


i believe in us

by scarlettroses



Series: How To Get Free Cake [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, I think that’s it, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, dont worry guys, some slightly steamy situations?, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-24 00:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14344047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettroses/pseuds/scarlettroses
Summary: “Long story short: hell fucking yes, Davey will marry Jack. He'd marry Jack in a heartbeat. An officiant could show up at their apartment right now and Davey would say ‘I do’.That's how gone he is for Jack Kelly.”-Six months after Sarah and Katherine’s wedding, all is well and Davey and Jack are ready to start planning their own celebration.Did they really think it could be that simple?





	1. the world that i need is with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT’S BACK!!!
> 
> i am beyond grateful for all the positivity on ‘it all comes back to you’ and the sequel has finally arrived!! if you haven’t read the first work in this series, you will definitely be a bit lost here, so i reccomend checking that out first!
> 
> anyways, here we are! this story takes place six months after the finish of the last one and fair warning: be prepared to dive straight into some Serious Drama in the next few chapters. we’re all here to suffer together, but i promise to balance things out with some ridiculousness from all our favourite boys!
> 
> thank you for choosing to read this and enjoy chapter 1!

 

If you ask Jack and Davey, there's no better way to spend a night in than cuddling and playing video games.

They're secretly celebrating six months of _actually_ being together, a milestone that would make no sense to anyone else because everyone still thinks they've been together for years. But just between Jack and Davey, two people who've never had much luck with relationships, six months is definitely something to be happy about. 

There's a store-bought cheesecake on the coffee table in front of them and they're drinking fancy wine, because they're _adults_. (Sarah and Kath are the adults. They'd brought over a bottle when they visited a while ago, but it hadn't ended up being opened that night. As if Jack and Davey, two broke idiots, would actually buy a nice wine.)

So, Jack and Davey are curled up on the couch, sipping out of plastic wine glasses and feeding each other bites of cheesecake while they take turns with the X-Box controller. It's Davey's turn and he's firing wildly at zombies in a game of Call of Duty while Jack laughs at how awful he is.

"Shut the hell up," whines Davey, elbowing Jack away from him as Jack cackles like a hyena. "I fucking hate you, you're worse than I am at this game and you know it."

"You _love_ me," whines Jack, fighting Davey's elbow attack and trying to kiss him on the cheek. Both of them are giggling and Davey's character is rapidly being surrounded by zombies on the screen. "Let me love you, Davey! Stop it!"

Fed up, Jack grabs Davey by the cheeks and kisses him on the lips, causing Davey to flail ungracefully. Giving in to Jack, he leans back so that he's laying on the couch with Jack on top of him. His character dies in the game, but Davey can't be bothered. He lets the controller fall to the ground and wraps his arms around Jack to deepen the kiss. 

"Six months," he mumbles, practically talking into Jack's mouth while they make out. "I love you so much."

Jack _giggles_ , which is the absolute cutest thing ever, and they just keep kissing because it's definitely more entertaining than shooting virtual zombies.

"Hey..." mumbles Jack after a rather significant amount of kissing, finally separating their lips to just lay there on top of Davey, still pressing occasional little kisses to his jaw. "I've been thinking."

"Well that's never good," scoffs Davey, acutely aware of the fondness dripping from his voice. Jack flicks him on the ear and Davey laughs. "Sorry, baby. Go on." 

Jack sighs dramatically before continuing.

"So I've been _thinking_ ," he repeats with the air of drama that only a former theatre kid can achieve. When he keeps talking, though, he sounds slightly nervous, like he's been rehearsing this in his head for ages. "I know we've only actually technically been dating for six months, but we've just been...y'know, _us_ for so long that this doesn't feel weird..." Jack pauses and Davey catches himself holding his breath. "I want us to actually get married. You're out of school now, so our excuse for not planning a wedding is gone, and I _really_ think we should actually get married."

Davey is surprised, sure, but he's not shocked. Jack is right. Davey had finished his internship and gone back for a final semester of school shortly after Sarah's wedding, so that had made a great excuse for why they weren't organizing their wedding yet, with everyone believing them to really be engaged. They'd claimed they just couldn't afford a wedding with Davey back in school— and it was true! College is expensive as hell, so they'd been a bit tight for cash for a while there. 

Now, however, Davey has graduated and moved to a permanent position as an X-ray tech at an animal hospital. With that development, and Jack getting promoted within his company to a _Senior Graphic Designer_ — which basically means he gets to work on bigger spreads in the magazine and help edit other people's work and Davey is crazy proud of him— they have a lot more extra money lying around and they've lost their easy excuse.

It would only make sense to get married soon, right? Sure, they haven't been actually dating all that long, but they've known each other for pretty much a decade. They've been living together and getting along with minimal problems since they graduated high school, and that's as good as dating. Davey knows damn well it would be impossible to find a connection like this with anyone else.

Long story short: hell fucking yes, Davey will marry Jack. He'd marry Jack in a heartbeat. An officiant could show up at their apartment right now and Davey would say _I do_. 

That's how gone he is for Jack Kelly. 

"Jackie..." he whispers as Jack sits up and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a little box. Holy shit. This cannot really be happening, can it? Davey follows suit in sitting up and before Jack can open the box, he interjects: "Jack, oh my god, yes. Yes, I'll marry you, you adorable idiot!" 

The way Jack's face lights up at that is the most beautiful thing Davey's ever seen. 

"Wait," whines Jack, but he can't even fake being annoyed with the giant grin that's come across his face. He slides off the couch to get down on one knee while laughing to himself in pure glee. "I'm not done!" He clears his throats and takes a second to collect himself. "Davey Jacobs, you make me the happiest man in the world." Jack has taken on a serious tone that Davey isn't used to, and it's absolutely beautiful. "I've been in love with you since I met you, and I've always known we were meant to be together someday. I wake up every day happier than I've ever been, because I know I get to spend my day with you and you bring so much joy to my life. I would be honoured to call you my husband and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you, David Jacobs, pretty-pretty-please marry me?"

Davey doesn't mean to tear up, but oh god, it's happening. He wipes at his eyes as he nods frantically, the lump in his throat preventing him from even saying a word.

"I figured since I already got you a shitty ring," continues Jack, opening the little box, "a necklace might be better this time around. What do you say, Dave?"

The necklace is beautiful. It's a simple silver chain with a tiny pendant, containing both of their birthstones. It's small enough that it could go unnoticed under Davey's scrubs at the hospital. It's _perfect_ , really.

"I'm gonna marry you so hard, Jack Kelly," says Davey, all but dragging Jack back onto the couch. He laughs through his happy tears and pulls Jack close. "Just try and stop me. I'm gonna marry the _shit_ out of you."

The boys press their lips together and because they just can't get enough of each other, and they eventually resume their previous position of Jack pinning Davey down on the couch. They just kiss and kiss and kiss and they've never been happier in their lives. 

As one might expect, the situation starts to grow steamy rather quickly. The making out turns to neck kisses, which turns to leaving hickeys, which grow lower and lower and... 

Good things never last, do they? At the exact moment that Jack is peeling his shirt off, his phone starts to ring, scaring the crap out of both boys. 

Jack turns to check it and Davey rolls his eyes.

"Ignore it," he whines, squeezing at Jack's hips and grinding upwards against him, an action which causes Jack to immediately flush red. He'll never get used to Davey's dirtier side. "C'mon, Jackie. I want you so bad right now. It can wait." 

Jack hesitates for a moment as he reads the Caller ID and then sighs.

"It's Medda," he grumbles as he leans over to grab the phone. "She only calls instead of texting if it's really important. Lemme just see what she wants."

Davey groans and throws his head back dramatically. Stupid Jack, caring about his family. Who even does that? If any of his family had been calling, Davey would've been happy to launch his phone across the room. 

Actually, no... If they were calling, Davey would pick up, just to make sure everything's good. He'd choose checking in on his family over staying in the moment because unfortunately, they're, like, _important_ or something. Ridiculous.

"Hiya Ma," says Jack, pressing his phone to his ear. He's still seated on Davey's lap, shirtless and with swollen lips from kissing, and he looks really hot. Call Davey evil, but he kind of feels an urge to mess with him.

" _Jack, hi dear,_ " Davey can hear faintly through the phone. " _Are you busy?_ "

With a little encouragement from the metaphorical devil on his shoulder, Davey bucks his hips up just as Jack is about to answer.

Jack's mouth falls open for a moment as he gasps and freezes, before recovering and glaring daggers at Davey.

"To be totally honest," says Jack, "I actually am kinda busy at the moment, but it can wait." He seems to direct those last few words at Davey, who's dissolved into a giggle fit. "What's going on?" 

The volume on Jack's phone is loud enough for Davey to eavesdrop, so he sits up on his elbows to listen in. 

" _Would you boys be able to come over some time soon?_ " asks Medda. " _There's some stuff I'd really like to have a talk with you about in person, dear. It's important._ "

Davey almost snorts at the way Jack's eyes go wide in a slight panic. If there's one thing that someone with an anxiety disorder doesn't want to hear, it's: _we need to talk._

"O-okay," says Jack, stuttering a little over the word. He's gone pale as a sheet and Davey gives him a reassuring squeeze of the hip. "Yeah, yeah, we can come tomorrow if you want? Like, for dinner or something."

" _That sounds perfect, honey,_ " replies Medda, blissfully unaware of Jack's nervous state. " _It's nothing bad, there's just a few things that would be easier to discuss in person. Don't worry yourself about. I'll see you boys tomorrow!_ " 

Jack's staring absently into the void now, which is utterly frustrating to Davey because he's still horny and now Jack has been pulled out of the mood. He's going to have to fix this.

"Okay," says Jack, his voice totally empty. Davey can practically see him overthinking things. "I'll see you. Love you, Ma."

Medda and Jack finish up their phone call and as expected, Jack is rather thrown off as he sets down his phone.

"What the fuck..." he mumbles to himself, leaning over the put the device back on the coffee table. He turns back to face Davey and repeats himself a little louder. "What the _fuck_?"

Davey sighs, somewhat exasperated and still very horny. 

"Don't worry about it, baby," he says, because he knows Jack _melts_ when Davey calls him baby. If the way Jack's face changes is anything to go by, Davey's plan is working. "If it it were an emergency, she would've told you on the phone. It's probably something boring, like legal shit about your adoption papers or something. She probably just needs you to, like, sign a paper and then she just wants an excuse for us to come over."

Davey doesn't actually know what situation could've arisen with Jack's adoption, consider that everything went through two years ago to legally make him Medda's grown-up child, but it seems like a simple enough option to diffuse Jack's nerves. The only reason Davey can fathom that something could've come up would be if Jack's mother had finally met all the necessary criteria to see her son again— two years sober, a steady job, somewhere to live, regular therapy, and so on. When Jack's father had gone to prison, his mother had gone to rehab instead, and there'd apparently been an agreement stating that she might be able to talk to Jack again someday. So far, they've never had any kind of word from her. 

Davey pauses. That technically  _could_ actually be it. Not that he's going to say it to Jack, as that would just scare him more, but it's entirely possible. It's unlikely though. It's been what, nine years now? If she wanted to see Jack again, she'd probably have tried by now.

Davey shakes the thought from his mind. His previous reassurances had seemed to work a bit in distracting Jack, so he keeps it up. 

Davey slides his hands from where he was gripping Jack's hips around to squeeze his ass a little like the disgusting boy that he is. Jack gasps and laughs, clearly somewhat scandalized by this action.

"It's nothing to freak out about, sweetheart," continues Davey, very much satisfied with Jack's reaction to his roaming hands. "Let me distract you, okay? Anything you want. Let me make you feel good, baby."

Yep, there it is. Jack's stressed-out expression just sort of _dissolves_ into the blissful happiness that Davey was waiting to see again.

" _Anything_?" he asks, finally leaning back down to meet Davey's lips for a quick kiss. When he pulls away, he leaves a minimal distance between their faces, so close that they can feel each other's warm breath. "You'll do _anything_ I want?"

Davey smirks and reaches up to cup Jack's jaw and run a thumb along his cheek. 

"Anything," he confirms, lowly. He knows his voice goes deeper when he's... _excited_ , and he knows it can make Jack swoon. He uses this to his advantage. "Because I love you more than anything in the world. Tell me what you want, sweetheart."

"Can't you see it?" replies Jack, smoothly. He leans a little closer to Davey and licks his lips. "In my eyes?" 

Needless to say, Jack and Davey celebrate their six-month-a-versery in the absolute best kind of way. Jack doesn't even think about his upcoming conversation with Medda until morning. 

He's going to marry Davey Jacobs. For real this time. Nothing can rain on his parade today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there we go!
> 
> what do you guys think medda actually wants to talk to jack about?
> 
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, and here’s a subtle plug for my tumblr, @thefactsofthematter, that’s almost at 400! come say hi if you’d like!


	2. when the sun is coming through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jackcrutchie silliness and shenanigans feat. quality life advice from cronch himself
> 
> (me? using irrelevant song lyrics of whatever i listened to while writing as my chapter titles? it’s more likely than you think)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took ages!! i’ve been going through a lot lately (both good and bad times, and it’s all been quite stressful!) and i’m finding it hard to put my heart into writing, but i never want to post something that i’m not totally happy with so please excuse the wait! i love writing fic but it’s definitely not #1 on my priority list so updates will probably be totally random and pretty spread out because unfortunately life can get in the way. sorry about that :/
> 
> all that being said, this chapter was lots of fun! no angst just yet, because as much as i love writing it, being silly is just so much better! next chapter though.... things will probably kick up a little. >:)
> 
> enjoy!

It's a known fact that Jack Kelly doesn't handle boredom well.

When Jack gets bored, he does such things as fabricating an entire five-year-long relationship. Or there was the time he and Race got inner-lip tattoos just because they felt like it— Medda almost killed them for that one.

Jack was sixteen— meaning Race was only fourteen, god they were such bad kids— and they thought it would be fun to get little smiley faces tattooed inside their bottom lips, and totally harmless because they fade away within a few years. One of Jack's friends did it for them, and for _free_ because she was still practicing. It was completely idiotic, but it was, in fact, a lot of fun and entirely harmless until Medda found out and grounded Jack for a month.

Jack has since replaced the faded-away smile with _Sorry Mom_ , written inside his lip in bold letters. She wasn't particularly happy about it, but Jack's an adult now and can't be grounded, so who's the real winner here?

Anyways, that experience simply proves the point that Jack being bored doesn't typically go very well.

That's why it's so handy that he's become such good friends with Crutchie lately. (It had taken months for Jack to be comfortable calling him that, but he's finally just accepted it.) Running a bakery and cafe all at once means there's always new creations to be taste-tested, which Jack is more than happy to help with. And of course, there's also the fact that Crutchie is the ultimate gossip, and will let Jack come sit behind the counter while they both spill the metaphorical tea on everything and everyone.

So, after kissing Davey goodbye when he heads off to work the morning after their anniversary, the proposal, and the concerning phone call from Medda, Jack decides he'll spend his day off bothering Crutchie until it's time to go to Medda's house.

Scratch that, it's not _bothering_ Crutchie. It's _entertaining_. Jack is really doing Crutchie a favour, isn't he? He's a ray of fucking sunshine and he knows it.

 

-

 

"Hi sisters!" yells Jack, as he power-walks through the door of Crutchie's bakery, carrying a Starbucks pink drink. He's not ashamed to admit that he's been somewhat obsessed with beauty Youtubers lately and literally cannot stop referencing them.

Crutchie looks up from where he's counting change at the till and stares at Jack, looking beyond unimpressed. Thankfully there's no customers inside right now, or Jack would've _really_ embarrassed himself

"Do you ever stop?" asks Crutchie. It's a fully rhetorical question, but Jack responds with a shake of his head anyways.

"Use code JACK for ten percent off," continues Jack in a singsong voice as he makes his way over to the little gate to let himself behind the counter, because he's nothing if he's not a little shit.

"Don't take another step," warns Crutchie, just as Jack is about to open the gate. "You're not allowed back here if you're being annoying."

Crutchie is the only one working up front right now, but when Jack peeks into the kitchen he can see Crutchie's little protégé, an eighteen year-old kid nicknamed Jojo who works _magic_ when decorating cakes. He's got headphones in and he's bopping his head to whatever song is playing while he frosts some fancy-looking cupcakes.

"Your attitude is really fucking _pigmented_ today," says Jack, causing Crutchie to groan and throw a penny from the register at him.

"That doesn't even make sense!" he yells. "You're not James Charles, shut the fuck up!"

Jack shrugs. He lets himself past the gate despite Crutchie's earlier warning and hops up onto a stool in the corner before taking a long sip of his drink in a very dramatic fashion.

"Okay, sister. Whatever you say. Do you want some pinkity-drinkity?"

Crutchie finally breaks his annoyed front and laughs, rolling his eyes. Jack does his funny little self-satisfied smile where he pokes his tongue out between his teeth, and then crosses one leg over the other.

"Yes," says Crutchie, reaching over and taking Jack's drink. "I'd love some." He sips it and leans against the counter. "How's life, Jackson? What's up with you?"

Jack shrugs.

"Good, but I'm also freaking out?" he says, and Crutchie raises an eyebrow, prompting him to elaborate. "Good, because Davey and I are finally going to start wedding planning, and that's exciting as hell. I'm freaking out because Medda's being confusing and vague and says she needs to talk to me tonight. I have no clue what it's about, so I'm a little nervous. Dave thinks it's probably nothing though."

Crutchie hums under his breath a little while he hands Jack's drink back to him. They've become best friends in the past few months, and Crutchie is scarily good at giving advice. He always seems to know what to say and Jack loves him for it.

"It probably _is_ something important," says Crutchie, which is just the opposite of what Jack was hoping to hear, but he knows it's probably true. "But I wouldn't freak yourself out over it. You trust her, right?" Jack nods. "So don't worry too much. Sure, you didn't come out of her vagina, but you're her son, okay? She would never do anything that isn't in your best interest and whatever she wants to tell you, she knows you can handle it. It'll be fine. Think positive, and even if it doesn't end up being good news, you'll get through whatever it is. You guys are the strongest family I know— you've been through a lot of shit and you always make it out just fine."

Jack feels a relieved kind of smile come across his face. If Crutchie weren't a cake-baking wizard, he ought to be a therapist, really.

"Alright," says Jack, nodding. "You're probably right." He pauses for a second and lets the tension dissolve from the air. "So did you watch this week's episode of Drag Race?"

Crutchie's eyes go wide and he gasps like his goddamn soul is leaving his body.

" _Bitch_ ," he says, very clearly about to go the fuck off, but then they hear the little bell that indicates a customer coming in. While still facing Jack, Crutchie rolls his eyes like he's having a brain aneurysm, because this bitch did _not_ just interrupt him, and then turns around with his fakest customer service smile. "Hello ma'am! What can I get for you today?"

It takes all of Jack's self control not to burst out laughing, so he hops off the stool and grabs a rag to start wiping the counter and pretending he actually works here. Crutchie gets mad at him when he, quote: _just sits there being useless_. If Jack's going to come here to eat free food and waste Crutchie's time, the least he could do is some cleaning.

 

-

 

There's a string of customer-after-customer for most of the afternoon, which is great for business, but horrible for Jack and Crutchie's need to gossip.

Finally, an elderly couple that had been sitting around for _ages_ leaves and things are quiet again.

"Oh hey," says Crutchie, balancing precariously on one of his crutches while trying to clear the table where the couple had been sitting. Jack swoops by and does it for him, grabbing the small stack of plates and cutlery to put them in the dishwasher. Crutchie smile gratefully. "Thanks man. Anyways, did I tell you I got to watch Albert and Elmer have an argument the other day? It was literally the funniest thing I've seen all week."

Jack snorts as he carries the dishes away.

"An argument? I didn't know Albert could get mad."

Crutchie has hung out with the whole group of them enough times to get to know everyone really well, so even he knows that arguing is totally out of character for both of them.

"I know right? They came here for lunch and they were fighting about whether or not you could make a perpetual motion machine with magnets," he says. "I don't know shit about physics, but they were getting really heated about it."

"Jesus," says Jack as he puts the dishes into the dishwasher and Crutchie finishes wiping down the table. "Of course that's what they'd fight about."

"So I wasn't really listening," says Crutchie. "Because they're saying shit like _force_ _of_ _friction_ and _kinetic_ _energy_ , and I'm like, fuck, I dropped out of high school. I have no idea what's going on." Both boys have made it back behind the counter now and they sit down to continue the conversation. "But they're kind of starting to get mad. And then, out of nowhere, Albert just yells: _God_ , _you_ _emo_ _little_ _twink_! And I just lost it."

Jack bursts out laughing at that.

"You're kidding," he says, and Crutchie shakes his head, laughing hard along with Jack. He can picture it in his head and it's hilarious because he can't recall seeing Elmer wear any colour that's not a variation of gray, maroon or black, paired with flannels and converse. "Oh my god, it's funny because it's true!"

"And then," says Crutchie, in a tone as if to say _you haven't heard the best part yet_ , "Elmer starts going: _I'm_ _not_ _fucking_ _emo_ _you_ _asshole_ , _it's_ _grunge_ , _it's_ _totally_ _different_. But then Albert— in a fucking power move if I've ever seen one— just takes out his hearing aids and puts them on the table."

Jack cackles at that. Not a lot of people know Albert is hard of hearing until he pulls something like that, or he forgets to charge his hearing aids and has to sign for the rest of the day once they die. He's a legend, really. Once Jack was signing something to him and Albert didn't want to listen, so he closed his fucking eyes and signed: _Anyways_... It was a power move that left Jack metaphorically wigless for days.

"So now they're just fighting in sign language," continues Crutchie, "so I'm even more confused than I was before! They weren't even fighting about physics anymore, I don't think, and then Elmer finally got really mad and walked out. It was actually insane."

Jack whistles lowly.

"That's wild," he says. "I've never seen either of them get mad before. They're good now, though, right?"

Crutchie shrugs.

"They were smoking weed into each other's mouths on Snapchat like eight hours later, so yeah, probably. I don't really understand them."

A single sentence has never summed up Albert and Elmer so accurately. If there's anything they're known for, it's videos of them lighting up bongs or shotgun kissing on Snapchat. Jack can't even judge, really, because it's kind of cute in the weirdest type of way.

Maybe he and Davey should smoke more weed and post more of it on social media— it seems like that's what all the cool kids (read: their loser friends) are doing.

Just as Jack is thinking of Davey, the bell over the door jingles and in walks the man himself. Jack looks over at the clock and figures that with the end time of Davey's shift and the time it takes to get here on the subway, he's right on time. It’s crazy how time flies when the bakery gets busy.

"Hi babes," says Davey, pushing his aviators up onto his forehead as he enters the bakery and sees Jack and Crutchie behind the counter. He blows a kiss in each of their directions, and Jack has to take a second to contemplate just how gay his boyfriend— sorry, _fiancé_ — is. “Sorry Crutchie, I need to steal him. We told Medda we’d be there by five-thirty.”

It’s four-thirty right now, so they’ll need to hurry back their apartment and get Jack’s gross, old truck so they can drive out the suburb where Medda lives. She’s recently moved from the urban apartment where her and little Smalls used to live, and where she’d raised Jack and Spot, because Smalls had been desperate for a backyard or any kind of space to practice gymnastics in. The new house is closer to her school anyways, so it’s all worked out quite nicely.

Jack whines loudly and annoyingly at the thought of having to leave, but Crutchie smacks him on the back of the head for it.

“Shut up, whiny bitch,” he says, with no actual hint of malice behind his words. He and Jack hug goodbye and then he gently shoves Jack in Davey’s direction. “I have a custom order I need to get working on. Go see your mother— let me know how it goes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!!! 
> 
> if you leave me a friendly comment i will love you forever!!! (yes i know i never answer them yikes i swear i read them all and appreciate you all loads! i really just do not get around to it and i’m sorry!)
> 
> a cheeky little plug for my tumblr: @thefactsofthematter  
> if you have any questions or headcanons or predictions, feel free to send them to me!! i’ll at least answer those, i promise!


	3. well this is fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> javid silliness, fun with smalls, and The News from medda. it’s a lot of fun until it’s not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so so so sorry for the wait!!! life has been very hectic lately and it’s not slowing down any time soon, so anticipate some long waits between chapters :(
> 
> if you thought i was capable of writing a serious chapter, you were severely mistaken. i just have to be silly. it’s in my bones. 
> 
> also, apologies in advance for the cliffhanger. that’s just what i do >:)
> 
> enjoy!!!

" _I'm a bad bitch, fuck the bitch. Bitch get slick, I'ma cut the bitch_."

"Oh my god."

" _I'm a bad bitch, suck some dick. If that bitch get slick, I'll cut the bitch!_ "

Davey has been on a Nicki Minaj kick lately. The bass is booming, shaking Jack's whole truck (which _finally_ has an AUX cord) and Davey is rapping along and dancing stupidly in his his seat.

" _I'll cut up the bitch, I'll gut the bitch! Had to fuck up the bitch, man, fuck this bitch!_ "

"Davey," groans Jack, barely audible over the loud music. "You're a good Jewish boy and you've never cut a bitch in your life. Stop it."

"I'll cut _you_ ," throws back Davey immediately. Listening to rap music brings out a strange, aggressively sassy side to him that Jack thinks is as hilarious as it is annoying. "Don't try me bitch."

Jack snorts and keeps his eyes trained on the road, shaking his head at Davey's ridiculousness.

"I need you to take it down about ten notches," says Jack. "We're going to my _mom_ 's house."

"And she knows I'm a bad bitch," snaps Davey, before continuing to sing along. " _Let's be real, all you bitches wanna look like me; wanna be in demand, get booked like me._ "

He points to Jack, clearly promoting him to sing the next line. With a roll of his eyes, Jack obliges.

" _Wanna run up in the lab and cook like me,_ " he says, flatly. They're pulling into Medda's driveway and he's entirely ready for this experience to be over.

" _But ain't none'a you hoes pussy good like me!"_ yells Davey, bouncing in his seat, too hyped up to hold still.

Jack puts the truck into park, pulls his keys from the ignition and the music cuts off. Davey bursts into laughter because he's a demonic little shit who knows exactly how to press Jack's buttons.

"You need to fucking relax," grumbles Jack as they climb out of the truck. "Honestly, you're _ridiculous_."

What Jack doesn't see is the way Davey smiles to himself as he climbs out of the truck. Here's the thing: Davey's plan had worked— Jack hadn't even had a chance to worry about their upcoming conversation with Medda for the whole ride over here, too distracted by all the shenanigans.

Sometimes it takes completely embarrassing yourself in front of your cool boyfriend to get shit done, and Davey is totally fine with that.

 

-

 

Jack and Davey are greeted by an _incredibly_ energetic Smalls when they arrive at Medda's house.

They can see her through the front window as she jumps up and runs to the door as soon as she hears the doorbell, sliding across the hardwood on socked feet until she nearly slams into the wall.

"Hi guys!" she yells as soon as she yanks the door open. She's grinning up at them with a mouth full of gaps in her teeth, most of them at various stages of baby teeth falling out and adult teeth growing in. She jumps right into a conversation before Jack and Davey can even make it into the house. "Spot and Racer are taking me out to a movie tonight, and we're gonna get ice cream! You losers are hanging out here with mom and that _sucks_."

Jack and Davey both laugh at that, looking at each other with wide eyes because _holy shit_ , this girl just keeps getting sassier every day.

"Elizabeth Jane Larkin!" yells Medda from the kitchen. Smalls freezes and goes pale because when Medda uses your whole name, you know you're in trouble. "I heard that! Be polite, please!"

Smalls rolls her eyes, but grumbles an apology nonetheless.

Once Jack has slipped his shoes off, he crouches down in order to sneakily grab his little sister and pick her up over his shoulder.

"Put me down, Godzilla!" screeches Smalls, thumping her little fists on his back, but she bursts into giggles anyways. "Davey, help me!"

Davey goes straight for Jack's sides, digging his fingers in to tickle him, while Smalls yells in delight. They chase each other around, an unfortunate reminder to Davey of just how physically unfit he is lately. Eventually, the three of them find themselves in a laughing heap in the middle of the living room, with Smalls laying across both Jack and Davey.

"Can you two come babysit soon?" she asks as they all catch their breath. "You guys are really fun."

Jack ruffles her hair and smiles, and Davey's heart grows about six sizes.

"I think we can manage that," says Jack. "You need more piano lessons with Davey, don't you? It's been a while."

That's true— Davey had started teaching her piano last year, but had gotten too busy for it when he went back to school. It would probably be a good practice to get back into, seeing as he hardly gets to play anymore. Medda has a grand piano that Davey is _obsessed_  with, especially when comparing it to the cheap, crappy keyboar in the guest bedroom of their apartment, his old room.

"I practice with Mom sometimes," says Smalls, who is apparently very comfortable on top of the boys and doesn't plan on moving. "But I like it better with you guys because I like when Davey plays and you sing, Jackie! You're both real good, y'know."

Before Davey and Jack can even do so much as accept the compliment, they're interrupted by the doorbell— likely Spot and Race arriving to get Smalls.

" _Che_ _piacere_ _vederti_ , _familia_!" yells Race as everyone's favourite literal demons let themselves into the house. For having known Race this long, Jack still doesn't speak Italian, but he knows whatever Race just said is some kind of greeting.

"Racer! Spotty!" squeals Smalls as she pushes off of Jack's stomach to run towards Race and Spot. Poor Jack clutches his gut as his face twists in pain and Smalls continues her trajectory, completely oblivious. Davey cackles and pats Jack's shoulder sympathetically, finally sitting up, free of the weight of a nine year-old holding him down.

"We gotta get going quick," says Spot, waving to Medda, who's finally poked her head out of the kitchen. "Our movie tickets are for seven and we need time to get popcorn? You got everything you need, Smallsie?"

Smalls nods, grinning up at him, and within minutes, the three of them are gone.

Davey and Jack are left sitting on the living room floor, and Medda makes her way out to greet them.

"How are you two beautiful boys?" she asks, wiping off her hands on the tea towel she's holding. Davey can see some lasagna-like ingredients on the kitchen when he peers around the corner, and he sincerely hopes that's what's in the oven.

Jack, who's still laying on the floor, groans dramatically.

"I've spent like twenty hours trying to figure out what you wanted to tell me," he says. "And I have no idea. Can you _please_ tell me now?"

Medda hesitates, with a look suddenly crossing her face that makes Davey's stomach drop a little. She doesn't look worried, necessarily, just like she's not sure what to do.

"Dinner's almost ready," she finally says. "We'll talk about it after we eat."

Jack yells incoherently in frustration and Davey really just has to laugh at his immaturity.

"We're starting to plan our wedding!" interjects Davey, in a not-so-subtle attempt to change the topic. The little pendant around his neck feels especially present with the weight of what it represents. Jack really, _really_ loves him. They're going to get married. He's going to have a _husband_.

Medda lights up and claps her hands together.

"Now that's the kind of thing I wanted to hear when I asked how you two are! That's incredible!"

Jack, Davey's toddler of a fiancé, sighs heavily from where he's laying on the rug.

"I don't wanna do all the planning," he whines. "I just wanna get married already. I want my husband _now_."

"Oh no you don't," says Medda, moving to stand over Jack and wag a finger in his face. "One of my kids already eloped and I'll be damned if it happens again." Davey does fondly remember how much shit Spot got in after marrying Race in secret, what's got to be a year ago now. "I'm helping you plan a fancy wedding whether you like it or not."

Jack groans again, and Medda kicks him lightly in the stomach.

"There's still ten minutes left on the lasagna." Medda moves to sit on the couch as she says this, and Davey mentally high-fives himself for his guess. "Let's talk colour schemes."

 

-

 

They tentatively decide on light grey and navy blue, a choice approved by Jack, the resident fashion guru himself. They then move to the dining room and dig into the food.

Dinner is delicious, as to be expected, but Davey would've enjoyed it a lot more had he not been so keenly aware of his poor fiancé drowning in anxiety across the table from him.

Jack moves through a cycle of tapping his feet, drumming his fingers on his placemat, and chewing the skin on the side of his thumb. He probably doesn't realize he's doing any of it, but Davey is all too aware.

When Medda gets up to grab something from the kitchen and start clearing the table, Davey reaches his foot across underneath it to lightly kick Jack's ankle.

" _Breathe_ ," he mouths, when Jack looks up at him. " _You're_ _fine_."

Jack offers a tight, fake smile in return, and Davey wants nothing more than to wrap him up in a warm hug and hold him forever.

They kick each other back and forth under the table for a while, like absolute children, until Medda finally comes back. There's a look on her face like she's dreading the conversation they're about to have, but she knows she has to do it. Davey doesn't like this one bit.

"So I guess we should talk now," she says, and Davey's heart begins to pound in his throat. If Medda is this nervous, it can't possibly be good news.

She sits back down at the table and folds her hands. Davey glances to Jack, who seems on the edge of a genuine nervous breakdown. He taps Jack's ankle with his foot, just as a little reminder that he's right here.

Davey takes a subtle deep breath. It's going to be fine. No matter what she tells them, everything will be fine.

"So, Jack..." she starts. "Do you remember, when you first came to live with me, how we had to talk with social services about what to do if your parents ever wanted to get in touch again?"

Jack nods nervously and Davey feels his heart drop to his toes. He was right, holy shit, he was right. This is about Jack's mother, isn't it? Jack doesn't seem to be in a panic about it yet, so Davey tries to force himself to relax. If Jack's not freaking out, then Davey certainly has no reason to.

“Well, even though you’re an adult now— because of the adoption, the same rules are sort of in place. They would have to contact social services to get my number, so that I can let you know and you can decide what you want to do.”

Jack nods again. He’s blank-faced and stoic, and Davey’s not sure what to make of that.

Medda takes a deep breath and drums her fingers on the table a little, probably trying to decide how to phrase what she’s about to say next.

“I’m not just, y’know, telling you this for no reason,” she clarifies. She pauses a second and continues with news that would change Jack and Davey’s lives. “Your mother phoned me yesterday. She wants to see you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boom. there it is. 
> 
> was it what you thought? did we expect davey’s foreshadowing to be right???
> 
> feel free to leave some comments!!! i love y’all!!! 
> 
> ((my tumblr is still @thefactsofthematter if you’re interested))


	4. don’t want to feel what i feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maybe jack doesn’t always handle things too well. maybe davey doesn’t really know how to help. maybe things get a little sad :(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> godddd i wish i could post more often y’all D: i hate taking so long in between chapters but i’m thankful people are still reading!!!
> 
> this chapter is a direct continuation of the one before! the only warning is some talk of past child abuse, but that should be a given in this fic by this point. 
> 
> i wrote this in bits and pieces whenever i could find time and i’m too lazy to give it a good ol edit so if things are choppy and spelling/grammar is rough, my apologies! 
> 
> please enjoy and don’t cry too much!!!

_"Your mother phoned me yesterday. She wants to see you again."_

"No," snaps Jack, almost immediately. His expression is totally blank, there's no trace of any discernible emotion there. "No way. Tell her I'm not interested."

Medda sighs softly. She looks like she knows she won't be able to change Jack's mind, but she'll be damned if she's not going to try.

"Jack..." she says, in that tone of voice like she's desperately trying to get through to him. "At least give it some thought, okay? She asked me to tell you that she misses you, and she loves you, and all she wants is to see you just once."

Jack's brow furrows in a way that almost seems angry, but Davey knows isn't really— he's just shocked, scared and frustrated. Jack stares at Medda for a second, like he's genuinely taken offence to her suggestion.

" _Why_?" he finally asks. "Why would I give it any thought? What makes her think that after all this time, she can expect to just walk into my life? She doesn't love me— she doesn't even _know_ me!" He's properly fuming now, his fists are clenched and his shoulders are tense. "Tell her— and you can use my exact words: leave me alone, you selfish, delusional _psychopath_. Tell her I don't care if she wants to see me because I _won't_ see her. I want nothing to do with her."

Davey bites his lip and cringes inwardly. That was really harsh. This isn't going well in the slightest.

"Jack, honey—" starts Medda, but she trails off when Jack shakes his head. He's gritting his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, and clearly trying incredibly hard to control his emotions.

After a tense moment of silence, the kind of tension you could cut with a cheese knife, Davey puts forward his attempt.

" _Baby_ ," he tries, reaching a hand in Jack's direction.

" _Stop_ ," snaps Jack immediately. Okay, abort mission. Davey tried, that was his effort. He's done now. Jack takes a deep breath to steady himself, but his voice still cracks when he speaks again. "I can't do this. I'm going to the bathroom."

With that, he stands up, pushing his chair back from the table, and promptly storms out of the room.

 

-

 

"That could have been a lot worse," says Medda, after a moment of sitting silently in the fallout of Hurricane Jack.

Davey sighs, resting his elbows on the table and dropping his head in his hands.

"Could it really?" he asks, incredibly aware of the disappointment lacing his words. He couldn't have seen that going any worse, actually.

"Oh, absolutely," says Medda. "When he was younger... he couldn't keep a handle on that frustration, whenever we had to talk about something difficult like this. He would yell and get so mad, and then he'd work himself into these awful panic attacks, and there was nothing I could do to help him— he wouldn't let me."

Davey finds himself frowning confusedly as he looks up.

"He wouldn't _let_ you? What do you mean?"

Medda sighs and takes a second to gather her thoughts.

"I know he knew deep down, in his heart and in his brain, that I would never do anything to hurt him, right?" Davey nods, and she continues. "But when you're panicking, all your logic flies out the window. I think... since he'd never had a good relationship with the adults in his life, his instincts were just telling him that if he let me get too close, I would hurt him too. It was like he expected me to hit him, or yell at him for crying. So he'd push me away and hide in his room, and at that point I just had to step back and accept that the situation was out of my control. He had to remedy things with himself before we could start to work it out together."

Davey chews on his bottom lip subconsciously as he nods. That kind of makes sense, he's seen how Jack gets in his panic attacks, though Davey's probably never witnessed any to the scale that Medda has. He'd seen Jack freaking out that night he'd had to stay in the hospital, and that was bad enough for Davey. He doesn't want to imagine the kind of emotional hell that Jack's really been through.

"That's hard," Davey finally says, because he's a whiz for stating the obvious. "That had to be _really_ hard."

Medda just nods. It's not exactly tense, the air between them, it's just heavy.

"It was hard," she says, nodding once again. "Spot helped him a lot, though. They really had this kind of... connection. They understood each other. When Jack wouldn't let me near him, Spot would go in and help him out. The same when Spot would lose control and start getting angry— Jack always had his back. Those boys saved each other, I swear."

Davey finds himself smiling at that. He thinks Spot and Jack's relationship is the most darling thing in the world, the way they fight like they're going to war but as soon as anyone else tries it with either of them, they become an infallible team.

"You did good with those two," says Davey with a chuckle. "They're literally my favourite people in the world."

This is true. Davey's fucking obsessed with Jack, because of course he is, but he's also come to be really, really close friends with Spot. It's not a friendship most people would expect, but once you see how well they work together, you just can't unsee it. The same way Jack and Race get into all kinds of shit because they seem to share a brain— or lack thereof— Spot and Davey are both quieter and thoughtful and really goddamn smart. They can get up to trouble when they feel like it, but they're both pretty good at reining it in when they have to— although Davey might be slightly ahead in that department. If Davey is the mom friend, always looking out for his boys, Spot is the dad friend in that he really tries to help Davey out but generally ends up falling right into all the shenanigans.

Any way about it, Spot and Davey get on like a house on fire. Spot is in law school at the moment and when Davey had gone back to college for that semester, they'd spent countless afternoons in the library together, bonding and studying. Emphasis on the _dying_ portion of that word.

Now back to the matter at hand.

"We'll give him a while to calm down," says Medda, finally leaning back in her chair and seeming to relax a bit. "Another ten minutes, maybe, and then you might want to check in with him."

Davey can't help but gulp nervously.

" _Me_? Don't you want to talk it out with him?"

Medda just kind of shrugs.

"He'll talk to me eventually, but definitely not tonight. I think he just needs you right now." She takes in Davey's nervous expression and laughs. "Just go hang out in one of the guest bedrooms and see how he's doing, alright? If he doesn't want to talk, just give him a hug and take care of him. You'll be fine. You two can even stay overnight if you'd like. Say... do you want a mint in the meantime?"

Davey manages a half-hearted chuckle, and then takes a mint from the bowl on the table and tries to emotionally prepare himself for whatever he might encounter when he goes to check on Jack.

 

-

 

Three gentle knocks on the bathroom door.

No response.

Davey presses an ear to the door and knocks again before softly saying:"Jack, sweetheart... it's just me. How are you doing?"

For a long moment, there's nothing. He can faintly hear Jack's shaky breathing— it doesn't sound like he's sobbing or anything, just shaken up. He must be sitting with his back against the door, judging by how the sound is carrying.

Davey tries turning the door handle to just go in there whether Jack wants him to or not, but it's unfortunately locked, not to mention Jack's body weight against it.

"Can you let me in, baby?" he asks, knocking softly once more. "We don't even have to talk if you don't want to, I just want to see you and know you're okay. Just unlock the door please."

It takes another long moment before there's finally a rustle that must be Jack standing up. The tap runs for a few seconds— he's probably splashing his face— and finally, _finally_ , the door creaks opens.

Neither of them say a word. Jack just steps forward and hides his blotchy, puffy face in Davey's neck as he wrangles his way into a tight hug. Davey isn't sure how long they stand there, but he's just happy to have Jack in his arms, so he doesn't mind. If Jack cries a little, it's not a big deal. They're frustrated tears— Davey can tell. Jack's okay, he's fine, just totally overwhelmed. This isn't a panic attack, and Davey is thanking the stars for that.

"Let's go hide in a bedroom," says Davey, after a while. He rubs a gentle circle on Jack's back. "It'll be quiet and we'll sit for a while, okay?"

Jack shudders, but nods nonetheless and lets Davey lead him down the hallway.

 

-

 

The way they lie down on the bed— on top of the blankets, Jack resting his head on Davey's chest, Davey's arms around Jack, the lights out and the door closed— is all too reminiscent of the night over six months ago, when Jack had revealed more pieces of the puzzle that is his childhood. When he'd admitted all the abuse that his father used to inflict on him, while his mother was too drugged-out to care.

Davey squeezes tightly onto Jack and tries to pull himself back to the present moment.

"Can you talk to me, baby?" he finally asks, once they've been laying there in silence for a while. "I'm not going to try to convince you one way or the other about seeing your mom, okay? I just want you to tell me how you're feeling."

Initially, Jack shakes his head. His breathing is shaky, like he's still crying and it's just too dark in here for Davey to see. Jack hugs a little tighter around Davey and he breathes out in a way that's almost a sob, but not quite. Davey's heart shatters into bits.

"If you don't want to talk yet, we won't," continues Davey, while brushing his fingers through Jack's short hair. "We'll give it some time, okay? Maybe tomorrow, once you're a little more calm. Let's just cuddle for now, how about."

That plan is effective for about two minutes. They lay in silence for that time, but it's not easy silence, like the way they sit around their apartment together. No, it's tense and uncomfortable, like there's so much that needs to be said but they're afraid to say it. 

Finally, Jack whispers into Davey's chest, his voice raw with leftover tears.

"I'm so mad. I don't want to be mad, but I am. I'm just... _angry_."

Davey doesn't say anything in response to that. It's partially because he has no idea what to say, but partially because of a strong sense that Jack isn't finished speaking.

"I want to forgive her," continues Jack after a moment, confirming Davey's guess. "Because I know everything that happened wasn't easy for her, and I know she didn't want any of it to happen the way it did. But I just see her as a monster, y'know? The only version of her that I know is yelling at me, and throwing things at me, and _hurting_ me. I just don't want to see her."

Davey hums softly in a way that he knows will help calm Jack, and starts to rub little circles between his shoulders.

"That's fair," he says, and he's not sure what else to say so he sticks with that. "That's totally fair, Jackie."

It's quiet for another long stretch before Jack whispers again, his voice straining like it's hurting him to talk.

"It _scares_ me, Davey... that all I want to do is hurt her as much as she hurt me. I want her to feel how I did, like she never loved me at all." He shudders like he's going to cry again and shakes his head. "I don't wanna be that person, Dave. I don't wanna be _mean_. But it's like it's there, deep down inside me, that I'm just like my dad. And that doesn't feel good."

Quietly, Jack starts to cry again, and Davey is left at a loss for words. All he can do is hush Jack, hold him tight, and whisper little reassurances that Jack could never in a million years be anything like his father.

He's not sure they mean anything, his little whispers, but he sure hopes they help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo.... ngl i got a little emotional just writing this so i hope everyone survived the hurricane that was this chapter. 
> 
> things were so good in the first few chapters, and now here we are. davey is totally out of his depth and jack is unfortunately spiralling into a very dark place. i’d love to hear some thoughts on how you guys think they’ll make it through this one!
> 
> as always, my tumblr is @thefactsofthematter and i’d love to chat about this fic or just anything you want! come say hi!


	5. the ebb and the flow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let’s have a closer look inside jack’s head, shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so basically, i’m finding that i love alternating point of views?? i think that since there’s so much going on in this story, the only way to keep up with it all is to see it from both sides. let me know what you guys think of this style, as opposed to how the last book was all from davey’s perspective!
> 
> confession: this chapter has been ready for a couple days now, but i’ve been really busy dancing at provincials and now getting ready for nationals and haven’t had time to edit/post! i’ll be graduating high school and dancing at nationals all in the same week at the end of this month, so my life is insane right now! writing calms me down, so i hope to find a way to keep updating!
> 
> enjoy the chapter! warning that it touches on the topic of suicide, but not very graphically and no character is actually suicidal, and also briefly mentions eating disorders and self-harm in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of way.

They end up staying the night at Medda's.

They fall asleep right where they are, after Jack has cried out all his stupid emotions and finally come back to reality. He eventually promises Davey that he'll take at least another few days to think about it before making a decision on the matter of his mother, something which is able to calm both of them down enough to actually go to bed.

He's lying, though. Jack's not going to think about it. He's going to spend the next two days distracting himself and then tell Davey exactly what he'd just said tonight— that he has absolutely no interest in seeing his mother.

Jack feels kind of bad, but at the same time, he doesn't. With all the bullshit his parents put him through, Jack has every right to never want to see them again.

Maybe he'll get Medda to tell his mother a bit about him: that he's a college graduate with an awesome career and a gorgeous fiancé, and that he never fell down the path of addiction that both his parents did. Maybe it'll make her angry. Maybe she'll be jealous that his life is perfect and hers never was. Maybe she'll be mad at herself that she didn't get to watch him grow up, all because of her own bad choices. Maybe that's exactly how Jack wants her to feel.

Jack wakes up early the next morning, not feeling refreshed in the slightest. He'd had a fitful sleep, constantly interrupted by a little ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach and a little voice in his head, screaming that he's a horrible person and he'll end up just like his dad. It's nothing new, really; this is how any night with bad anxiety goes.

The clock reads _6:23_ when he starts to climb out of bed, because lying here in the dark is the last thing he wants to do right now. He feels Davey stir a little when he starts to move, so he rests a gentle hand on his arm and whispers: "I'm just going for a smoke. I'll be right back."

Davey doesn't open his eyes, but he frowns at this and reaches blindly for Jack's hand.

"Not good for you," he mumbles, waving his fingers towards where Jack is out of reach, pulling on his t-shirt and jeans he'd taken off to sleep last night.

Jack wants to make a snarky comment, but instead responds with a resigned: "Yeah, yeah. I know."

He almost says " _Tell_ _that_ _to_ _the pack and the lighter in your sock drawer_ ," but he holds it back. He and Davey both know they're there, and neither of them are too happy about it. They both know that Jack's not the only one with shitty mental health, that he's not the only one who's been through some really awful stuff, and that sometimes the only thing that can calm Davey down is sitting on the balcony and inhaling a disgusting cigarette.

They don't really talk about their smoking habits, and they definitely never smoke together. It's like a dirty little secret on both of their parts— they both know about the other's, but they never mention it.

It's a bad habit, sure, but at least it's better than the neat rows of faded white scars that line Davey's arms. It's better than the way Jack used faint while he went days at a time without eating.At least a cigarette is just a cigarette. Just a few minutes of giving in to the darkness in their heads to get through the rest of the day. God... they're pretty fucked up, aren't they?

Jack kisses Davey softly on the cheek and then makes his way out to the backyard, careful to tiptoe through the house and avoid waking anyone. He's pretty sure Spot and Race decided to stay over last night when they came to drop off Smalls, so it's a full family gathering today.

He collapses into a deck chair, lights up a cig, and just sits. The sun is rising over the garden fence and there's a layer of morning dew on the grass. Jack thanks every deity out there that he and Davey both have the day off from work. He's not sure he could handle going into the office today, and he's clingy, okay? He likes having Davey by his side when he's sad.

He takes a long drag of smoke and lets himself get lost in his thoughts.

It's weird... mental illness. Jack could be fine for weeks, _months_ even, and then something like this happens and he's all of a sudden in that dark, _dark_ , suicidal place again.

Well, he's not _actively_ suicidal, per say. He never has been. He's never tried to kill himself, he's never even really _considered_ trying. He's just... indifferent. Like he could die tomorrow, and he'd probably be happier that way. Like it might've been better had he never been born.

It's just a strange feeling to have. Almost like the way he feels he's flying blindly into adulthood because he didn't really ever see himself making it this far. He'd never _planned_ to kill himself, but he'd somehow thought he just... wouldn't be around anymore.

It's hard. It's confusing and it's hard.

Jack sits there awhile and begins to feel significantly calmer. The sun is almost all the way up and he's watching a family of birds in the top branches of a big oak tree. This is okay. Jack is doing... _almost_ good. He's not doing _bad_ anymore, so this is nice.

"Weird time to have a smoke."

Jack turns around to see his younger brother wandering into the backyard, still dressed in workout clothes from a morning run, and carrying what's probably a protein shake.

"Want some?" is Jack's response, offering what's left of the cigarette in Spot's direction as the younger boy approaches and sits down in a chair next to him.

"Nah," says Spot, waving it away. "I can't smoke on these new meds. Tobacco doesn't mix right with them, or something."

Jack raises an eyebrow at that. Spot has been on and off of different medications for as long as Jack has known him, but the last mix really seemed to be working.

"New meds?" he asks, before puffing the cigarette once more. It's almost finished and he's really, _really_ tempted to have another. "Weren't the last ones good?"

Spot shrugs.

"I was always gaining and losing weight, and I got dizzy _really_ easily. My doctor figures these ones might have less side effects, since it's a way lighter dose."

Jack frowns, but knows better than to let his protective instincts overrule the opinion of a doctor. He's always been a little antsy about Spot's health, but he tries to remind himself not to freak out too much. Spot is an adult now, and can listen to his doctor just fine.

"As long as they work," he says. "Whatever's gonna make you feel the best."

Jack, in his own opinion, has fair reason to worry about Spot's health, though Spot always laughs at him for it. You see, the kid is epileptic, as a result of a massive brain injury as a kid. He's had seizures as long as Jack has known him, and Jack will admit that they're _terrifying_ to watch. There'd been a period of time when Spot was twelve or thirteen, when his meds he’d used as a kid had stopped working but he wasn’t on new ones yet, where he'd have dozens of seizures every day and was even hospitalized for a while. Jack would prefer to never see his little brother convulsing on the floor ever again, thank you very much. He'd like him to stick to medication that they _know_ will work, not some _lighter dose_ to help the side effects.

Spot doesn't let Jack worry for long, always one to change the subject as soon as he feels awkward.

"Any reason you're out here destroying your lungs this early in the morning?"

Jack sighs heavily and extinguishes the butt of his smoke on a little ashtray between the two chairs.

"Long story."

Spot just grins and crosses one legs over the other

"I've got time. Spill it."

 

-

 

Jack does just that.

He spills all of it, such as what's going on and why he's so angry about it. He neglects to mention the scarily depressive thoughts he'd come out here to battle with, but those aren't important. It's the _mom_ _situation_ that's really weighing on him.

"So I don't know," concludes Jack, after a while of ranting. "What do you think?"

Spot is quiet for a moment, thinking. He chews on the corner of his thumb and eventually nods his head, satisfied with the response he's come up with.

"I think you should see her," he says, somewhat hesitantly, "but maybe now isn't the right time. Maybe in a few weeks, maybe in six months, maybe in two years— you might feel a little more calm about all of it and you might want to talk to her. I think it could be good, somewhere down the line, but you shouldn't go into it not feeling ready. You know what I mean?"

Jack nods and thinks for a moment about how happy he is to have Spot, because Spot _gets_ it. He'd lived with an addict mother for years— albeit under very different circumstances from Jack— so he at least sort of knows what it's like.

They've talked about it a few times before: their backstories, how they'd ended up in foster care. Spot's mother, just like Jack's, had been drug-addicted and basically incapable of raising a child. The difference between them lies in that Spot's mother never once hurt him. She never yelled, she never hit. She did her very best to take care of him, given her circumstances. It was her constant stream of different boyfriends and dealers who would hurt Spot. It was a boyfriend of hers who had shoved Spot down their apartment building's stairs when he was eight, the incident that had resulted in both his epilepsy and his moving in with Medda.

If Spot could see his mother again, he would. Jack knows it.

Unfortunately, Spot doesn't get that option. His mom had died just a year after Spot had been taken away from her. Jack _knows_ he's lucky that his mom is still here, that he has the chance to make things right with her, but he just doesn't want to.

"You're right," says Jack, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, letting the newly-risen sun stream across his face. "Maybe someday. Just not yet."

They sit there for a while longer, and for that moment it feels just like when they were teenagers and would spend whole afternoons just hanging out together. Jack missed this— the way they can sit in silence and not even be bored.

Jack Kelly is goddamn lucky to have a brother like Spot.

 

-

 

" _Jack_! _Spotty_!"

Jack cracks an eye open to see what’s going on. Sprinting out of the house comes Smalls, barefoot and still dressed in pyjamas. Her hair, finally somewhat grown-out from the pixie cut she used to have, is hanging down behind her in messy, slept-on braids.

"Mom is making pancakes!" she continues, "And she said that since it's so nice out, we'll eat on the deck!"

Spot takes this one, letting Jack remain in his comfy, eyes-closed, half-asleep state.

“ _Awesome_!” he says, with no hint of falseness in his enthusiasm. If there’s one thing Jack knows, it’s that Spot fucking loves pancakes. “Are Davey and Race up yet?”

Smalls peeks in the window to the kitchen as if to check, and then turns back to Spot and shrugs.

“Davey’s in the kitchen. I think Race is still sleepin’. You should go get him.”

Spot sighs dramatically and pushes himself out of his chair, rolling his eyes in what’s probably a mix of fondness and annoyance.

“That stinker,” he complains, making Smalls giggle. “Always sleeping in.”

Spot heads into the house, and Smalls is left just sort of standing there, watching Jack carefully. He can’t be bothered to move— she’ll probably ignore him and figure out a way to entertain herself.

To his surprise, after a moment, she climbs onto his lap and mumbles, very seriously: “Are you sad, Jackie?”

This remark snaps Jack back to reality. Was he that obvious? He sits up a little straighter and wraps an arm around her. He plasters on what he hopes is kind of a smile, because he’s not sure he feels quite capable of a real one just yet.

He’s not sure what to say, but he knows better than to lie to a kid. They’ll always call you out, before you even realize you’re lying.

“Maybe a little sad, yeah,” he says, and his heart breaks a little at the way her face falls. “But don’t worry about me. I’m just thinking too much— thinking about all the sad things and not enough of the happy ones. I know a big ol’ hug from my favourite sister would probably cheer me up.”

So maybe Jack’s day didn’t start off the greatest. The moment Smalls wraps he arms around him and squeezes tight, it all turns around.

Today will be a good day. He’s making sure of it right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there we go... a kinda sad, kinda not, little look into jack’s mind. unhealthy coping mechanisms who??? we don’t know her. 
> 
> feel free to leave a comment/kudos!!!
> 
> also, if you happen to like my writing, i recently posted a short, sad, canon-era oneshot about brotherly jack/race. it’s pretty heavy, but give it a look if you’re interested!
> 
> thank you for reading!! :D


	6. we’re fine living close to the edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they’re doing ok. things are going ok. it’s happy for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y’all!! here’s a lil longer chapter than normal because i actually had a night off for writing!
> 
> i have a day and a half left of high school, a couple exams, and then i graduate!!! hopefully i’ll do some writing in my study breaks so it shouldn’t be TOO long before another chapter i hope?
> 
> enjoy a bit of fluff!!! (with some minor angsty undertones sometimes? don’t come for me)

One of Davey's favourite things to do is look for the little rays of light on the darkest days.

For example, the way he's sitting here with Jack, under a tree in Medda's backyard. They're spread out on a big blanket, and Jack is leaning into Davey's side in the most adorable way, with his arms wrapped tightly around his fiancé's waist. Last night was hard, and they were both still upset this morning, but it kind of feels like they've slipped away from that for now.

"It's so nice out," remarks Jack, smiling up at Davey. His eyes are sitting somewhat half-lidded, and his cheeks are tinged slightly pink from the heat. "The sun's making me sleepy."

They're in the shade now, but they'd spent a better part of the morning running around the yard in a big game of soccer with the whole family. Race and Smalls had, of course, kicked everyone else's asses, but everyone had had a good bit of fun trying their best.

"You didn't sleep too well last night, hey?" asks Davey, gently pushing the front part of Jack's hair to the side, off of his forehead. It's not quite a fringe, as he still keeps it short and tidy, but he's been growing it out a little lately, just long enough for Davey to run his hands through. "I thought I heard you get up a few times."

It's like they're in their own little world over here, on their blanket in the little patch of shade under this tree. Race had a dance class to get to— whether he's dancing in it or teaching it, Davey's not sure— so the boys had left some time ago. Smalls is sitting on the deck, drawing or colouring or something. She's near enough for Davey and Jack to keep an eye on her, should it be needed, but not close enough for her to overhear anything they say. Medda is inside— Davey vaguely recalls her mentioning getting some laundry done to escape the heat for a while.

It's just Davey and Jack now, enjoying the lovely spring-but-nearly-summer day and each other's company. It's so nice just being together, Davey simply can't wait for this man to be his husband.

"Just goin' to the bathroom, then getting a glass of water, y'know?" responds Jack. "I was a little restless. You know I can't sleep when I'm stressed, and I'd normally take melatonin but it's all at home."

Davey nods in understanding, continuing to softly play with Jack's hair. He's so comfy that he almost suggests napping right here, but they'd probably melt into a puddle of goo if they fell asleep in this heat.

Davey kisses Jack's forehead and then says: "We could go home soon, if you want, and you could have a little rest. I'm all tired out, honestly. I could probably use a nap too."

Jack shrugs, probably agreeing with the idea but not too fond of the fact that he'd have to leave this comfortable spot in order to go through with it.

"What if we invite the guys over tonight?" he asks after a moment of quiet. "It's been, like, a million years since we all hung out. I'm really feeling some pizza and video games."

Davey smiles and nods happily. He's not sure if it's bad that he's secretly rejoicing at the suggestion. When Jack is really upset, he gets _incredibly_ clingy, so the fact that he wants to hang out with their whole friend group says that he's doing slightly better than Davey had thought.

Clingy isn't a bad thing, necessarily. It's not like Davey doesn't love hanging out one-on-one with Jack— in fact, it's one of his favourite things to do— but it's worrying when Jack starts deliberately isolating the two of them because he's sad. He doesn't just _cling_ to Davey; no, he latches on with long, sharp, metaphorical claws. He reaches right in and grabs hold of Davey's heart, and he can't let go without tearing it out and destroying the both of them. 

When it gets to that point, Davey finds it difficult to stand up for himself and say that he doesn't like what Jack is doing, so they inevitably tumble into a snowballing mound of toxic behaviour. It's never happened thus far in their relationship, but it had definitely occurred a couple of times as best friends, like when Jack and Race gotten in a big fight, so Jack had turned to Davey as his " _only_ _real_ _friend_." They'd wound up in a dark pit of Jack only upsetting himself more while Davey wallowed in bad memories and emotional damage from his last relationship, the one where his much older, incredibly abusive boyfriend had tried to rip him away from his friends and family so they could spend every minute of their free time together.

That was probably just Davey being traumatized, though. Jack definitely wasn't that bad. It had just been the tone of it— the _you're the only one who loves me, you have to hang out with me and only me_ vibe. They way he'd felt so loved and valued, but also so incredibly lonely. It was two totally different situations though. Jack could never be anything like that asshole. 

Davey does his best to shake these thoughts from his head. He and Jack had fixed things just fine, they simply had to take a little bit of time apart— just a few days, really— and eventually they'd found their way back to each other. They'd both vowed to work on the things about themselves that had led to all that. Jack, with keeping his behaviour in check and being more conscious of Davey's feelings, and Davey with speaking up when he _begins_ to feel hurt, not after it's too late and his heart is crushed and trampled on the floor.

It's good now, Davey thinks. They're better now— they're grownups. They can talk about how they feel. They won't let something like that happen again. And Jack's not a bad person, not in the slightest! He just has trouble dealing with really strong emotions, and Davey has trouble helping him. That's how they got there— it was both of their faults.

Davey suddenly realizes that Jack is staring at him very strangely.

"Are you okay?" asks Jack. He's teasing on the surface, but there's a note of worry underneath it. "You zoned out."

Davey rubs tiredly at his eyes and fakes a chuckle.

"Shit, yeah," he says, shaking his head to clear his mind. "I'm more tired than I thought. Having the guys over sounds good, I'd like that."

" _Okay_ ," says Jack, frowning and not seeming particularly convinced. "Only if you're sure. If you don't feel good or something, you know you can just say so, right? I won't get, like, _mad_ or anything if you just want a quiet night at home."

Davey hates the little seed of pity he can hear in Jack's voice in that last bit. The tone of voice where it's clear Jack knows Davey is vulnerable and sometimes unwilling to speak up for himself, like he needs to prod in order to get to how Davey really feels. It's frustrating, really, to have his weaknesses made so clear.

"No, really," says Davey, slowly managing to reel his head back in from the clouds. "I'd love to hang out with the guys." He pauses and sighs, knowing well that he can't exactly hide any feelings from Jack. "I'm just all up in my head today. Overthinking shit, as usual."

Jack half-smiles and hugs Davey a little tighter, nestling his head into Davey's neck.

"Okay," he says, with a sigh that's not really sad or even judgemental, just tired. "Just... talk to me, alright? I told you how I'm feeling about all this shit, but I need to hear from you too, okay?"

Davey nods, and it's quiet for a while. He knows this doesn't mean he has to open up right this moment, but they'll probably lay in bed tonight and it'll be Davey's turn to whisper his feelings into the darkness. It's less nerve-wracking that way, when it feels like the blackness of the room can simply swallow up your words.

"I love you," Davey finally mumbles, before gently holding Jack's chin and pulling him in for a kiss. He pulls away after a few seconds and leans their heads together as he continues, teasingly: "Have I told you that lately? That I think you're incredible and I love you more than anything in the world?"

They kiss again and Jack chuckles into it, only blushing a little.

"I've heard it a couple times," he says as their lips separate. "You're a lovesick fool, Jacobs."

"How can you blame me?" replies Davey, cuddling Jack tightly. "I've found my soulmate and my best friend, all in one guy. How lucky can a fella get?"

They lie there soaking up the sun for a while longer— probably too long, in retrospect, considering the slight burn they both wound up with— but they were simply too happy and warm and in love to get up and go anywhere else.

 

-

 

The evening finds them doing exactly as Jack had suggested— gaming with the boys. In a normal fashion with unseasonably warm weather, it's been followed by a thunderstorm. Rain is coming down in sheets against the window and every one in a while, thunder will boom or lighting will flash.

This afternoon, Jack and Davey had gone home for a nap and then tidied up their apartment a bit, before Spot, Race, Albert, Elmer and Crutchie had showed up some time ago with pizzas and beers and, thanks to Crutchie, a big box of cupcakes.

"Okay," starts Race, whose restless hands are fidgeting with an Xbox controller while he sits cross-legged on the couch. "If we're building teams, we need codenames."

Jack cuts him off before he can continue, saying: "If you're about to quote Parks and Recreation, I'll literally punch you out."

Race powers on anyways.

"I'm _Eagle_ _One_." This is met by a collective groan from the whole room, to which Race shushes them aggressively. "Jack— you're _Been_ _There_ , _Done_ _That_."

"One time!" groans Jack immediately, from where he's sitting on the floor, wrapped in a fleece blanket and looking like ET on the bike in that one scene. "We kissed _once_!"

That's true— when Jack was fourteen and Race was twelve, they'd both figured out they liked boys and simply wanted to give it a shot. Maybe they did in fact like boys, but kissing your best-friend-almost-brother is going to be turnoff for anyone. The kiss had been weird and awkward enough that Race had convinced himself he was straight for at least another year.

"Spot is _Currently_ _Doing_ _That_ ," continues Race. Spot is leaning into his husband's side and folding a greasy piece of pizza into his mouth. He winks at Race and then simply continues to eat. "Albert can be... _It_ _Happened_ _Once_ _in a_   _Dream_."

"Fuck yeah!" responds Albert, fist-pumping happily from where he's perched on Elmer's lap— a slightly awkward position considering that Albert is a fair bit taller than his boyfriend. "You're secretly in love with me!"

Race rolls his eyes so hard they ought to fall out.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he says sarcastically, before immediately jumping back on his bullshit and pointing at Davey, who's laying next to Jack on the floor. "Davey-boy— you're _It_   _Happened More Than Once in Multiple Dreams_."

Davey flushes red at this— he's acutely aware of the fact that Race had an adorable little crush on him in high school. It was precious, really, the way he'd followed Davey around like a lovestruck puppy for most of his freshman year. He'd thankfully moved on upon meeting Spot, and the rest, as they say, was history.

"Crutchie!" continues Race, before Davey can even respond. "You're... _If I Had To Pick a Straight Guy_."

Crutchie giggles from where he's claimed Davey's favourite armchair. His crutches are leaning against the side of it and his legs are tucked up in the chair.

"I'll take it," he says, shooting finger-guns at Race. "I like to think I'm pretty cool for a straight dude, right?"

Davey snorts and shakes his head.

"Considering the fact that you just said _dude_ unironically, no. You're definitely not."

Crutchie huffs in mock offense and flicks his hair out of his eyes.

"You _wound_ me, Jacobs," he says, shaking his head. "I'm the coolest dude you've ever met. Just because I have a _girlfriend_ —" The room goes silent as Crutchie realizes what he's just said. He chuckles nervously and shrugs with an awkward grin. "Surprise?"

Jack sits up a little straighter but doesn't drop his blanket— Davey almost laughs to himself because he kinda looks like a weird worm.

"Bitch!" yells Jack, in a combination of shock and excitement. "Get it, Charlie! Why didn't you say anything?"

Everyone, save for Davey, gives Jack a pointed look that screams: _you're one to talk about not telling people._

"It's... uh, in the early stages," says Crutchie. "I wouldn't even call it official yet. But..." Any semblance of traditional masculinity drops and Crutchie is suddenly seemingly possessed by the spirit of a thirteen year-old girl. "I really, _really_ like her, and I think she feels the same way. We've been on a few dates and, oh my god... she's so great, you guys."

Race is literally bouncing on the couch in excitement, disrupting Spot's previously peaceful pizza-munching. He drops the controller to the ground, as girl-talk is way more important than gaming.

"I want all the details," he says, turning himself all the way around to face Crutchie properly. "I need her Instagram, first of all, for stalking purposes. And then you need to tell us everything you've done together. You're surrounded by gays— we don't take these things lightly." Race seems to be finished, but his eyes suddenly light up as if he's just remembered something. "Oh! Elmer, your code name is _Eagle_ _Two_."

Elmer’s exasperated eye roll and mumble of _thank_ _fucking_ _God_ don’t go unnoticed.

“Well…” starts Crutchie, and Davey thinks to himself that if the heart-eyes emoji were personified, it would be Crutchie right now. “Her name is Erin, and she came into the bakery a while ago…”

 

-

 

Somehow, Davey is still awake when the sun rises.

It’s a funny thing— to have those people that you can just _talk_ with, until you lose track of time and suddenly it’s morning.

It’s just Davey and Spot left awake, talking quietly so as to not wake their friends.

Jack has fallen asleep on the floor, in a position that Davey knows will make him complain of a sore back for the next day or two. The blanket he’d been wrapped in earlier is now rolled up into a makeshift pillow and one of his hands is reached out, resting on top of Davey’s.

Race is passed out on the couch with his head in Spot’s lap, and the way Spot pets his hair and smiles down at him makes Davey’s heart melt. Albert and Elmer are leaning into each other, looking like a couple of puppies, all piled up together. Crutchie is spread out on the armchair, having stayed awake until just an hour or so ago.

“Looks like the sun is almost rising,” says Spot, leaning past Davey to peer out the window. The rain has long since ceased and it’s starting to get a bit lighter out. “Wanna go watch it?”

Davey doesn’t even have to say anything— they both stand up, Spot gently moving Race off of him and Davey sliding his hand out from under Jack’s, and they head out to the balcony.

“Weird couple days, huh?” says Spot, as they lean against the railing. This is the first time they’ve addressed the… _Jack_ _situation_.

“Yeah,” sighs Davey, staring out at the New York City streets. “He’ll be fine, though. He just needs a little time.” He pauses and then says what he’s been thinking since they got the news. “I think he’ll see her eventually. He’s scared, but I think he wants to.”

Spot nods. The sun is peeking above the horizon, there’s leftover raindrops rolling down the balcony railing, and everything is at peace.

“Worry about the wedding first, huh?” asks Spot, with a half-smile. Ever since they’d briefly mentioned starting to plan it, earlier tonight, Spot has seemed more excited than anyone.

Davey figures this might be the right time for an important question.

“Speaking of that,” he says. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… Have you ever been a best man before?”

Spot lights up immediately— he gasps and his eyes go wide.

“Davey-boy! You’re kidding!”

Davey grins and shakes his head. He and Jack haven’t really talked about it, but they both know Jack will ask Race and Davey wanted Spot.

“You’re my best friend!” he says, before chuckling when Spot wraps him up in a hug— a rare occurrence between the two of them, who aren’t exactly the touchiest people. “Will you be my best man, Sean?”

Spot bounces giddily on his toes and pulls back from the hug. 

“I’ll be the best fuckin’ best man you’ve ever seen.” His eyes suddenly go wide in realization. The sun is rising behind him and Davey is really, really happy, and grateful for his friends. “You’re going to have the _sickest_ bachelor party! Oh my god, I have to get planning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i liked this chapter a lot! i love love love banter with the boys and also Soft Moments™
> 
> thanks for reading!!! comments and kudos make my day!!! as always, feel free to follow my tumblr for some dank memes and even some little hints and spoilers for this story ;) @thefactsofthematter


	7. so you got what you always wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some wedding planning fluff, and a little look at some of davey’s childhood trauma to spice things up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s a really long chapter to make up for the really long wait??? sorry guys i love you all
> 
> life has been hectic but i’m on summer break now! i’ll still be busy because i’m doing some travelling but my time away from this fic really made me miss it and want to write more, so hopefully some more chapters should be coming soon!
> 
> trigger warning for this chapter: it’s already been implied in another chapter that davey used to self-harm and that era of his life is explored a little here. there’s some talk of depression and suicide that might be upsetting so please be careful :(
> 
> i’m sorry i keep hurting my characters but i think a complicated backstory and lots of character depth is really important to a good novel! keep hanging in there y’all!
> 
> this one is probably a 60/40 fluff to angst ratio, so there’s lots of happy to make up for the sad! enjoy!

_Two weeks later._

 

"So if Henry does the catering and Crutchie does the cake, we can get good prices on those..." Jack pauses, tapping his pen against his knee. "And Race's sister wants to do our flowers, which I think she'll give us a deal on..."

Budgeting is awful.

Jack has a whole spreadsheet laid out in front of them while they both sit on the floor, trying to see if they can actually afford to get married.

"The marriage license itself is thirty-five dollars," adds Davey. "We can't forget that. And we'll need an officiant... and also wedding rings."

Jack adds three new rows on their growing list of expenses and groans a little to himself. It's been two weeks since he proposed— for real this time— and wedding planning keeps looking harder and harder. 

"Okay..." he says, dropping the pen to the floor and leaning back. "Once we can find a venue and figure out what it'll cost, we can budget for everything else. It's gonna be fine."

"We just won't eat for the next six months," offers Davey, shrugging like it's no big deal. "We can save money _and_ lose weight so we look good for the wedding. It's a win-win."

Jack laughs because Davey was clearly joking but also dies a little inside because that might be the only way they can make this work.

"We're okay with keeping things small, right?" asks Jack, his voice betraying him by sounding as nervous as he feels. All he really wants is to make a beautiful, special day for Davey, and things aren't quite shaping up the way he'd planned. All this shit is too expensive and it's starting to freak him out. "I think if we keep it all really simple, we can make something really nice."

The way Davey smiles with this soft, gentle, caring look in his eyes reminds Jack of every single reason he's in love with this man.

"We could get married just the two of us, wearing garbage bags in a back alley, and I'd still be happy," he says, sliding his hand over to intertwine their fingers. "All I need is you, Jack. Everything else is just a bonus."

It's remarkable, the way those words are able to soothe Jack's soul and make everything better. He's hit with such a wave of relief and comfort that he can't even find words, all he can do is grab Davey by the face and kiss him on the mouth.

"You're amazing," he says, pulling away from the kiss and leaning his head on Davey shoulder. Jack sighs quietly, suddenly realizing just how _bored_ he is of talking about money. "What do you say we give up for tonight and come back to it tomorrow?" Ever a cheeky menace, Jack slides a hand up Davey's thigh and lowers his voice suggestively. "I can think of _way_ more fun things we could be doing."

Jack is confident he's struck the jackpot when Davey nuzzles into his neck and presses a gentle kiss to the sensitive skin there.

"Is that so?" he asks, trailing his hands up to squeeze Jack's hips. Unfortunately, all Jack's hopes of getting lucky are shot dead when Davey suddenly sits up straight and shakes his head. "No, no. We said we'd get this done tonight, Jackie. I don't wanna get behind on planning. Let's at least figure out about how many people we're inviting."

Jack whines like an angry toddler, not moving from where he's leaning against Davey, and is met with a hard flick to the ear.

"Focus for twenty more minutes, Jack," says Davey, in almost the tone of voice that one would use to negotiate with a petulant child, "and I'll give you the best goddamn blowjob you've ever had in your life. How's that sound?"

Jack groans obnoxiously, but accepts the deal nonetheless. He can't really pass up an offer like that.

"Fine," he sighs, sitting back up and grabbing his pen again. "So, just parents and siblings between us makes seven, and then there's your grandparents..."

 

-

 

The next day, Saturday, finds Davey on a cleaning spree while Jack is at work.

They’re having people over tonight in a slightly fancier way than a gaming and pizza night, so he’d like things to be a bit tidier. Hidden in his and Jack’s room are little gift bags for everyone in their wedding party, and they’re all invited over tonight so Jack and Davey can properly ask them to be involved.

There’ll be some nice food, some champagne that Davey found on sale at the grocery store, and a ton of Instagram-worthy moments. Davey is pretty excited.

He’s been dancing around the living room with a vacuum for some time now and just as he finishes up and turns it off, he realizes that his phone is vibrating on the coffee table— the vacuum had been too loud for him to notice it. 

“Shit,” he grumbles as he trips over the couch on his mission to take this call, and he presses the device to his ear without even looking at the screen. “Hello?”

A heavy, stifling blanket of an emotion that Davey can’t really describe settles over him when he realizes who he’s talking to.

“Hi David,” says his father. His tone is stilted and somewhat awkward, just like all of their conversations. Whenever it’s just the two of them, no one else around, things go back to being _weird_ between them.

“Oh… hey Dad,” says Davey, not even able to convince himself to sit down on the couch. He just stands there, tense and uncomfortable.

They’ve never _really_ gotten along, if Davey’s being honest. 

Every time they talk, all Davey can think of is being a depressed, angry teenager, and fighting with his dad on nearly a daily basis. He remembers the screaming; the dents he put in his bedroom walls by kicking and punching them; the blood he drew from his arms when he just needed to materialize the emotional pain he was feeling.

Davey knows that his father thinks of those times too, that’s why they can’t talk to each other like normal fucking people.

There’s one incident that sticks out, that Davey has never told anyone about but he’ll probably always remember, like a dark little secret between himself and his father.

 

-

 

_“I hate you! I’m sorry I ruined your fucking life, just by being born! I’m sorry you have to deal with me!”_

_Davey knows he’s talking total bullshit, but he just can’t stop. There’s tears in his eyes, his face is flushed, and he’s never felt so angry in his life._

_It’s not fair, any of this. His dad lost his job, his parents are on the edge of splitting up, and Davey is a fucking depressed, closeted fifteen year-old. It feels like the world has been attacking him from every angle and he just needs it all to stop._

_He’d come home from school today only to be greeted by his father confronting him about the way his grades have tanked lately and how he hasn’t been doing his chores— yelling about how lazy Davey is and that if he doesn’t get his act together he’s going to be in serious trouble. Screaming about how entitled Davey is and how he takes everything for granted. Safe to say, Davey feels like absolute garbage._

_“David, enough!” roars his father, only making Davey cry harder. “You’re a goddamn nightmare! No wonder your mother took Les with her and not you! Of course she left me to deal with you, the fucking problem child!”_

_That one cuts deep. His mother had gone to stay with her parents for a while, to escape all the fighting with her husband. She’d taken seven year-old Les with her, since it would be easier for him to miss some school than for Davey. Meanwhile, Sarah is away at college, not having to deal with any of this. Davey has never felt more alone and unwanted and he’s so fucking sick of it._

_Suddenly, before Davey even realizes what he’s saying, he screams:_

_“I’m gonna fucking kill myself! I guess it would make your life a hell of a lot easier!”_

_Dead silence._

_Davey and his father simply stare at each other in shock for a moment, both totally caught off-guard by the statement._

_Davey immediately begins to retreat, starting to slowly back away in the direction of his bedroom. He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have let that secret out._

_The closer he gets to the hallway that leads to his room, the faster he starts to move, until he finally turns and sprints the few final feet to where he can slam his door behind him. He dives onto his bed and sobs into his pillow for the rest of the night._

_His dad doesn’t even come and check on him._

 

-

 

Davey blinks, and suddenly he’s himself again.

Twenty-four years old, standing in his apartment that he shares with his fiancé. No matter how much he’d genuinely thought he was going to take his own life as a teenager, he didn’t do it. He’s here.

“Uh, what did you need, Dad?” he asks, his body finally jerking into motion and letting him sit on the couch. “No offense, but you don’t normally call me. Is something wrong?”

“No…” says Davey’s father. He almost sounds hesitant, and Davey is confused. “No, nothing’s wrong. Your mother and I— and I wanted to be the one to ask you— we were just wondering if you needed any help with the wedding. You know, money-wise, or just with planning. We… _I_ want to be here for you. It’s a big milestone, and I want you to be able to rely on your dad if you have to.”

Davey swallows heavily, taking all that in. It’s not like they don’t talk to each other anymore, but it’s very unlike his father to reach out like that.

“Thank you,” says Davey, after a pause. “That… that really means a lot. I’m a little busy right now, but maybe you and I could go out for a few drinks sometime and… talk about it, I guess? The wedding stuff, and just kinda catching up?”

Davey is still awkward and not totally sure what to say, but it’s been a long time since he’s talked to his dad without being totally resentful of him. This is kind of nice, actually.

“Awesome,” says his Dad, and he sounds so happy and relieved that it makes Davey smile. “That would be great. I’ll let you go, get back to what you were doing.” He pauses for a moment, and then adds on: “I love you, David.”

Davey smiles the biggest he ever has during a conversation with his dad.

“I love you too, Dad. See you soon.”

 

-

 

Hours later, the apartment is bustling, full of Jack and Davey’s favourite people. There’s trays of appetizers on the counter and everyone has a glass of champagne— save for Smalls, who has sparkling juice.

“Okay,” says Jack, clapping his hands together as he and Davey stand before their friends. “You’re probably all wondering why we’ve gathered you here today.”

Spot is the only one who knows, as Davey had already asked him to be his best man. The rest of the crew: Race, Sarah, Katherine, Albert, Elmer, and little Smalls are all rather clueless on why they’ve been invited to the little party. 

Davey snorts at Jack’s dramatics and hugs him tight where his arm sits around his waist. 

“So, as you guys know, we’re starting to plan our wedding…” he says, “and we have some pretty important questions to ask you all.”

With that, they pull out the big box of gift bags that they’d hidden behind the TV. All of them are labeled with something along the lines of: _Will you be my groomsman?_ with Sarah and Kath’s asking them to be bridesmaids and Smalls’ asking for her flower girl services.

“You absolute sweethearts!” squeals Kath, as Jack hands her a bag. “This is so cute!”

Everyone has received a custom coffee mug— painted by Jack— as well as a scented candle, some chocolates and a handwritten card from either Jack or Davey. They all accept to be in the wedding party, thankfully, with Race, Katherine and Albert on Jack’s side; and Spot, Sarah and Elmer on Davey’s.

It’s all really adorable and it gets posted all over Instagram, with captions ranging from really sweet and thoughtful, to Race’s: _the two morons finally decided to get hitched._

All in all, Davey is just really, really happy for his fiancé and his friends, and he’s sure their wedding will shape up to something great. 

 

-

 

A few hours later, everyone is still just hanging around. Crutchie has closed the bakery for the night and come by to visit, and Medda has been over to pick up Smalls and get her to bed.

They’ve got a movie on in the living room, where most people are sitting, while Jack and Race are out on the balcony, sharing a blunt.

“Hey,” whispers Sarah to Davey. “Do you have an extra phone charger? Mine is at two percent.”

Davey looks to the kitchen where both his and Jack’s are in use, but he’s sure they have an extra somewhere. 

“Just give me a second,” he says, pushing himself up from the couch and heading out to where Jack is sitting. He lays a hand on Jack’s shoulder, causing him to look up at him. “Jackie, do you have an extra charger somewhere?”

Jack pauses to think for a second and then points vaguely in the direction of their bedroom.

“If you look in my bedside drawer, I think so,” he says, and he doesn’t seem high, aside from the fact that his voice is a little raspy from smoking. “Probably buried under a bunch of stuff.”

Davey leans down to where Jack is sitting in a patio chair and kisses him on the cheek.

“I’ll go have a look,” he says. “Thanks babe.”

“Coolio…” mutters Jack as Davey leaves, and okay, maybe he is high. “You go, buckaroo.”

He and Race giggle as Davey walks away, and all Davey can do is roll his eyes fondly.

 

-

 

There’s a lot of shit in Jack’s drawer, but none of it seems to be a charger.

He’s digging all the way to the back now, past hand creams and lip balms to where he can’t really see what he’s doing, but he can’t seem to find it.

Davey is about to give up when he pauses as his fingers brush over something. He can tell just by feeling it, he’s come across not a charger, but a photograph.

He shouldn’t snoop. If it’s buried this far in the back of the drawer, it’s clearly private. But at the same time… it’s just a picture. What harm could come from looking at a picture, right?

Slowly, Davey gets a grip on it and pulls the photo out, past all the junk in the drawer.

His heart catches in his throat when he looks at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? leaving a cliffhanger because i want to hear what you guys think it’s a picture of? 
> 
> it’s more likely than you think. please drop me a comment telling me what you think! :)
> 
> thanks so much for reading!! i know i never answer comments because i really just never get around to it, but i read them all and really appreciate them!!


	8. it’s all so fast until it slows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so what WAS the photo!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!!
> 
> at this point i feel like apologizing for long waits is getting redundant, they’re all long waits! i’m really trying but life is busy!
> 
> so this is irrelevant but i’m seeing wicked in toronto today and i’m super pumped because there’s not much theatre where i’m from and i’ve never been to a real show!! i’m so excited!!
> 
> anyways, enjoy the chapter! it’s not quite angst and not quite fluff, just a nice middle ground!

Davey runs his thumb over the photograph in his hands and tries to will himself to start breathing again. He's never seen this picture before, and that breaks his fucking heart.

The photo itself is creased, faded, and wrinkled, as if it's been through a lot. It looks worn, like maybe Jack pulls it out and looks at it often— like he wrings and squeezes it in his hands, or at least he used to. It wasn't just forgotten, collecting dust at the back of the drawer; no, it was like it had been shoved back there on purpose, to keep it hidden.

Davey almost feels bad for looking at it, because it's clear that Jack wanted to keep it to himself. 

Pictured is a young couple, definitely no older than eighteen or nineteen years old, smiling brightly at the camera. Between them is a baby who seems to be a few months old at most, wrapped up in a blanket and looking up with wide eyes at his mother.

Davey's chest starts to feel tight as he takes in everyone's faces— the man is a spitting image of Jack, only with blonde hair and lighter eyes. His jaw, his nose, the way his features are set... that's all Jack, right there.

The woman, on the other hand, has Jack's dark hair, his deep brown eyes, and his naturally sun-kissed skin. She's smiling in the same way that Jack always does, with her tongue poking between her teeth, making her look playful and happy.

And then the baby... there's absolutely no way it isn't Jack. The dark hair, the tan skin, the eyes that are so dark brown, but somehow still so bright. It has to be him. His present-day features are a perfect mix of these two people's— there's no doubt that these are Jack's parents.

On top of that, the date in the bottom corner of the image reads: 10/14/1994. That's exactly six months after Jack was born, making him exactly the right age to match up with the baby.

It's kind of hard to look at this picture, honestly. It's clearly before things got so hard for them. Jack's parents look so happy, not drugged-out or drunk or angry, the way Davey has always pictured them. It's weird to think that they used to be... _normal_.

Davey wipes away a tear that he hadn't noticed was rolling down his cheek.

It's really unfair, the way their lives turned out.

He lets out a shaky sigh and moves to set the photo down, but something on the back of it catches his eye. Slowly, he turns it around, and his free hand makes its way up to cover his mouth as he reads the tidy handwriting that covers the back side of the photo.

_Jack, my baby,_

_You're six months old right now, but I'm writing this in hopes that you read it someday when you're older. I want to make sure you know just how much your father and I love you. If something ever happens where we can't be with you, you'll be able to come back to this and remember how happy you've made us._

_When it feels like the whole world is against you, just remember that we're always on your side and we love you more than words can explain._

_Love,_

_Your mother and father, Maria and Robert._

Davey is wiping away tears before he even realizes they're falling.

It's not fair. It's so, so, totally not fair.

They'd promised to always be on Jack's side. They were supposed to be the ones to protect him from the world, not make him scared of it.

When they wrote this, they couldn't have possibly imagined that one day the police would be storming their apartment to arrest them and take their son away. They probably would've shuddered at the thought of it and vowed never to let that happen.

It's funny how things work out. Actually, scratch that. It's not funny at all— it's really fucking sad. It's awful.

Davey drops the photo onto Jack's nightstand and uses both hands to try and wipe the tears from his eyes.

Looking at a photo like this and reading that note makes Davey realize why Jack never sounds particularly resentful when he talks about his parents— he knows he was loved, and things just didn't turn out right. It's like Jack knows his parents probably feel beyond guilty for everything that happened, because there was a time, forever ago, that they loved him so _fucking_ much. They said it right there— they loved him more than anything in the world.

Davey shakes his head, trying to clear up his tears. He's been in here too long, he'll have to go out and let Sarah know he couldn't find her a charger.

Standing up, he takes a big, deep breath and fans his face a little to dry his eyes. As he walks out of the room, he doesn't even notice that he never did tuck the photo back into the drawer.

 

-

 

Davey manages to catch the end of the movie when he reenters the living room and slides himself back in next to Sarah on the couch. He hadn't been paying much attention in the first place, but it seems like the problems have resolved themselves rather nicely and the story comes to a happy ending.

As the credits roll, Jack and Race finally come in from the balcony and join everyone else while only vaguely smelling like weed. Jack deposits himself on Davey's lap with no hesitation and kisses his neck. Everyone else is having their own little conversations, so Davey gives in to the PDA and wraps his arms around Jack's waist.

"You smell good and I love you," whispers Jack, and Davey's not totally sure where the sudden affection has come from but he's certainly not unhappy about it. Jack buries his head in Davey's shoulder and continues: "You're really soft and good to cuddle. I love you so much."

Davey laughs softly and sighs, brushing his fingers through the short hairs along the nape of Jack's neck.

"You need to go to bed, don't you?"

Jack responds with some kind of a tired noise, whining into Davey's shoulder, and Davey just leans his head on top of Jack's. He tries to ignore the little ball of worry in the pit of his stomach, but it's hard to pretend he's not at least somewhat concerned about his fiancé. 

Jack hasn't been sleeping— ever since that first night at Medda's house, when they'd gotten the news of his mother. Davey's a light sleeper, so he's well aware of it when Jack wakes up in the night to toss and turn and even sometimes get up and wander around.

He has it narrowed down to two possibilities: either Jack is possessed by a demon that won't let him sleep; or he's just way more upset about this situation than he's letting on.

Davey sincerely hopes it's the latter and a call to an exorcist isn't in order.

 

-

 

Jack heads off to bed while Davey finishes saying goodbye to people and tidying up.

He shuts and locks the door after hugging his sister and sister-in-law goodbye, piles some dishes in the sink, and says goodnight to Race and Spot, who are taking the guest room for the night.

With a heavy sigh that can only come after a long day well-spent, he enters his and Jack's bedroom, ready to collapse next to his fiancé and get some rest. 

Jack isn't laying in bed, already asleep, as Davey had expected. He's sitting on the edge of the mattress with the photo from earlier in his hands. _Shit_.

"Why was this out?" he asks, without looking up as Davey walks in. His tone is hard to decipher— it's not clear if he's angry with Davey for having looked at it or if he's just _really_ exhausted.

"When I was looking in your drawer for that charger," stammers Davey, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty for snooping. "It was in there. I just found it, and I was going to ask you—"

He trails off when Jack looks up at him and, to Davey's relief, laughs softly.

"I'm not mad that you saw it, Dave," he says, and then pats the spot next to him on the bed, inviting Davey to sit. When Davey does, he continues, "I was gonna show it to you eventually, y'know. I just didn't know when would be a good time, and then I kind of forgot it was there for a while." He pauses for a long moment, and his voice is distant when he says, "It's the only thing I have left of when things were... good. Before it all went to shit."

Davey just nods, not sure what to say. He wraps an arm around Jack and rubs his back gently.

"You're really strong, Jackie," he eventually whispers. "I'm not sure I tell you that often enough. For having been through all that you have... you're so, so strong."

Jack just kind of shrugs, and his voice stays in that distant, quiet tone.

"Not sure what else I can be, honestly."

It's quiet for a while. They just sit there, letting the moonlight from the window stream over their faces as they look at the photo. It's comfortable silence, like they're content just to be here, together.

"I miss her voice," Jack finally says, quietly. "I really miss the sound of her voice." He pauses and then adds, "She was born in Mexico— she spoke Spanish sometimes at home. She taught it to me when I was little, so we'd talk to each other in Spanish and we thought it was funny when my dad didn't understand. He'd always joke around and pretend to get mad about it."

Davey laughs softly at the story and rubs his thumb on Jack's shoulder. This is the first time he's heard Jack reminisce fondly about his childhood, and it's a nice change.

"Can you tell me something in Spanish?" he asks in an attempt to keep things light and happy. "I never get to hear you speak it."

Jack leans into Davey's shoulder and grins.

" _Quiero estar contigo para siempre_ ," he mumbles, and Davey has no clue what he's saying but he loves it a lot. Jack's voice changes when he speaks Spanish— it goes a little deeper and softer, and everything he says sounds lovely and romantic. He kisses Davey gently on the neck. " _Te quiero con todo mi corazón_."

Jack sets the photo back down on the nightstand. He wraps his arms around Davey's waist in a tight hug and takes a deep, tired breath. 

"Ready for bed?" asks Davey, softly. He feels Jack nod into his chest. "Let's sleep then. C'mon, Jackie."

They both lie down in bed, though Davey has yet to change into pyjamas. It's hot in here anyways— he'll probably just sleep in boxers. He throws his shirt in the direction of the hamper in the corner of the room and slides out of his jeans.

They lie in silence for a while, both exhausted from the long day they've had.

"I think..." whispers Jack abruptly after a bit, his words waking Davey from the edge of sleep. He's probably been laying here thinking this whole time, unable to sleep, as per usual. "I think I wanna call my mom." He pauses like he's waiting for Davey's approval, and then elaborates. "I was so mad when Medda told me, because of everything that happened, but... I miss her. I want to hear her voice."

Davey's so tired that he swears he might be dreaming this, but the weight of Jack leaning on him is very real, so he's got to be awake.

"That's good, Jackie," he whispers, reaching a hand up to gently brush through Jack's hair. "That's really good. I'm proud of you."

The conversation ends there, but there's more they can say without words. They hug a little tighter as they drift off to sleep.

This is good. It'll all be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAA he’s doing it!!! i’m so proud of my lil jack :’)
> 
> thoughts? will this be the best thing for jack? will it hurt him more? if it does, will davey be able to help him? will there be entirely unrelated plot twists coming your way? hmmmmm who knows ;;)
> 
> as always, feel free to leave a comment here or come chat to me on tumblr (thefactsofthematter) about it! also, i’ve decided to start doing a bit more writing on tumblr that isn’t posted here, so come follow me if you’d like to see it! i have a few drabbles in progress that will be posted there soon!
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> PS: sorry if the Spanish is wrong, I don’t speak it and googled it as best I could!


	9. you make me feel so young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things are great on javid’s side, maybe not as much for sprace. some plot lines start to tie together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaahhhh it’s been a MONTH since i’ve even touched this story!! the writer’s block has been incredibly real. i’ve probably rewritten this chapter like 4 times and never quite been happy with it. at this point i just want to get it posted and try out the next one. 
> 
> anyways, the boys are back!
> 
> picking up where we left off, davey saw an old photo of jack with his parents, and jack has decided he wants to speak to his mother! who knows whether this will be good or bad decision for him in the long run. 
> 
> so, remember several chapters ago, when spot mentioned that he was changing meds to treat his epilepsy?? that’s going to become very important very soon. just keep it in mind. 
> 
> warning for this one: some minor mentions of illness? nothing too crazy, at least not yet. 
> 
> enjoy!!!! and sorry for the wait!!!

If life were a movie, this morning would be one of those scenes included simply to establish just how happy the characters are.

Jack figures there'd be some sweet little Frank Sinatra tune playing in the background as the camera pans over him and Davey bumping into each other while trying to make breakfast in their tiny little kitchen. They keep on leaning in for kisses and smacking each other playfully on the ass, giggling all the while. The window is open and the sun is shining through— Jack decides that maybe he'll try and paint this sometime.

Davey is making pancakes while Jack is frying up some bacon and eggs, and there's a fresh pot of coffee brewing on the counter. Neither of them work on Sundays, so these days are reserved for being lazy and happy together.

"I'll call Medda today," says Jack, as nonchalantly as he can. "Ask about the _mom_ _thing_. She'll be real happy about that, hey?"

Davey grins and slides his arms around Jack's waist from behind.

"She'll be so proud of you," he says, and he proceeds to kiss Jack on the cheek. "I think she really wanted you to reach out. If she didn't think it would be good for you, she wouldn't have brought it up in the first place."

Jack nods and the conversation fades into a comfortable silence. 

They buzz around each other as they finish cooking, and eventually find themselves sitting at the table with plates full of food.

"These are good, Davey," says Jack, through a mouthful of pancake. "Real fluffy. I love it."

Davey chuckles and rolls his eyes at Jack's utter lack of table manners.

"I'm glad you like them, dork," he says, before sighing and leaning back in his chair. "So what do we have to do today? I know we need groceries, and it's almost Les' birthday so we could go look for a present..."

As Jack finishes chewing, he raises a finger as if he's got something to say. He swallows dramatically, drops his fork on his plate, and speaks.

"I was thinking I might go over to Medda's and talk to her in person about getting in touch with my mom. Y'know, considering that I yelled at her the first time she tried to talk to me about it," he says, cringing a little but laughing sheepishly. "And I can get groceries on the way home. Just send me a list."

Davey raises a questioning eyebrow at that.

"Last time I let you get groceries, we ended up with ice cream, Oreos, and nothing that was on the list. Maybe I should go do that." He laughs at Jack's appalled expression and adds: "I do think you should go see Medda, though. It would be good to, like, clear the air, one on one."

Jack nods somewhat solemnly and picks up his coffee mug to take a sip, however before he can even put his lips to it, he sets it back down with more dramatic flair than could ever be deemed necessary.

"You know what, no, I'm not done— I can _totally_ shop for groceries, bitch!" Jack looks genuinely infuriated and Davey can hardly contain his laughter. "I'm gonna prove you wrong! I'm getting the groceries on my way home, fuck you."

At that, Davey cracks and dissolves into laughter, Jack following immediately after. As hard as they're laughing now, it's hardly going to be as funny this time next week when they've inevitably eaten nothing but candy.

By some miraculous turn of fate, Davey isn't even all that mad about it.

 

-

 

With nothing to do while Jack is gone, the afternoon finds Davey several episodes deep into a Rupaul's Drag Race marathon. He's rewatching season six— by far the best one, in his opinion— and he's sort of wondering what he'd look like in drag.

He's worn makeup before, simply because he's the most feminine gay he knows and he grew up with an older sister, but he's never tried full-on, hip-padding, glue-down-your-brows drag. Living in New York City, the opportunities for it are truly endless, and he might have to ask his and Jack's high school friend, Romeo, to get him done up sometime. It could be fun, he figures.

He vaguely wonders how Jack is doing over at Medda's and considers texting him a supportive little message, but before he can even unlock his phone, it buzzes with an incoming text.

 **Racecar** **Higgins:** _hey man are you busy_

Davey frowns a little, thrown off by the lack of obnoxious emojis and borderline unrealistic spelling errors. He swears Race spells things wrong on purpose just to bother him. Also, it's not like Race to ask if Davey is busy— he and Spot generally just arrive with a tray of Starbucks and announce what the plan for the day will be.

 **Davey:**   _Not really, why?_

Just because Davey isn't presently busy doesn't mean he wants to be busy. He's very much enjoying spending time by himself and he can't say he'd be too happy if his friends suddenly barged in to interrupt it.

Instead of a text back, Davey's phone begins to ring with a call from Race, blasting his ringtone of _Nice For What_ by Drake. 

"Hey," says Davey upon answering, as he hits pause on the tv. "What's up?"

Davey's not sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't a quiet, exhausted sigh. It's probably the most _unlike_ Race sound imaginable. 

"Hey Davey-boy," says Race. There's a strange air to his voice; he's speaking very quietly and he sounds like he could use about a week's worth of sleep. "What are you..." He trails off and then rephrases. "Do you have any plans for, like, the rest of this afternoon? Or tonight?"

Davey thinks it through, and he doesn't really. He and Jack had been thinking about going out for dinner together, having a little date night, but that can probably wait. Race sounds, well, _horrible_ and it's somewhat concerning. Davey's mom-friend instincts are too strong to blow him off.

"No, I'm all free," he says, absentmindedly twirling a thread on the hem of his shirt. "Are you feeling alright? You sound... uh, not to be too blunt, but... not that great."

Race sort-of-laughs, sort-of-sighs at that.

"I'm okay, just tired," he says, eventually, before pausing to gather his thoughts. There's no sarcasm, no humour behind his voice. He sounds weirdly grown-up and serious. "I was just wondering if you could maybe do me a favour?"

Davey's frown deepens and he finds himself tugging a little harder on the thread.

"Sure, Racer," he says. "What do you need?"

Race sighs yet again, and Davey wants nothing more than to give him a hug, despite the kid's general aversion to touching. He really sounds like he could use a good cuddle.

"Just..." He sighs heavily and takes a moment to force himself to speak. "I know he was good at hiding it last night, but Spot is really fuckin' sick. I dunno what's wrong with him, but I think it has to do with his epilepsy meds. His doctor keeps taking him on and off of different pills and it's screwing with him pretty bad. He tried to go to class this morning but he had to come home because his head hurt too bad, and he's only gotten worse since then."

Davey's pulse has suddenly skyrocketed with worry and he snaps the thread he'd been playing with clean off of his shirt without even realizing it.

He'd noticed Spot being fairly withdrawn and quiet last night, but he hadn't thought much of it. Minor side effects from Spot's meds have always been fairly common, like headaches and slight nausea, so it's not unlike him to shut down for a while during social gatherings. Looking back now, though, he had fallen asleep rather early, and he'd hardly said a word to anyone all night. He and Race had stayed overnight, but Spot had dipped out early without even eating breakfast in order to get to class, and Race had followed close behind. Davey hadn't thought anything of it, but it does seem strange in hindsight.

"Oh shit," is all he can think to say as he tosses the thread to the floor. "What can I do to help? Do you guys need anything?"

There's some rustling on the other end of the call, like Race is moving stuff around.

"I have a bunch of dance classes to teach today," he sighs. "And it's like... I wish I could stay home with him, but it's way too last minute to cancel. I've called Medda and Jack already, and neither of them answered, so you're basically my only hope. All I need is for you to sit around here and kinda look after him— I'll even bring you dinner on my way home. I just _really_ need your help. He's lying in bed, he's pretty much asleep, you'll just have to keep him company and make sure he's okay. I'll, like, do anything you want _forever_ if you can come help me out."

Race's rambling would be funny if it weren't for the panic behind it. Davey has seen Race's instagram lately— he's been promoting these classes for ages and the comments on his posts are full of young dancers looking forward to working with him. It would kill him to have to cancel and Davey knows it.

So much for a date night.

"Relax, Racer," he says, in what he hopes is somewhat of a calming tone. He can hear Race exhale, hopefully taking Davey's words seriously and trying to calm down. "You go keep on being a famous dancer. I'll take care of Spot. You've got nothing to worry about. I'll be there as soon as I can. Should I tell Jack to swing by when he's done at Medda's house?"

"Thank you so much, Davey, holy shit." Race sounds like he could burst into tears. "You're a lifesaver. And go ahead and tell Jack— I guess that makes sense now, why he and Medda didn't answer their phones. If they're together I'm guessing they're talking about... the _mom_ _thing_?"

"Yeah," says Davey while shutting off the TV and standing up. "Jack thinks he's ready for a phone call, at least. We talked about it last night. He's... doing better, handling it all."

Race pauses to take that in and then simply says:

"That's good. Y'think he's ready?"

Davey's not sure how much he should say, not wanting to gossip behind Jack's back, but Race is Jack's best friend, so there's no better person to discuss this with. Davey sighs as he grabs his keys and wallet from the counter and turns the lights out in the apartment.

"I don't know... I hope so." Davey walks out into the hallway and holds his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he locks up. "I'm just scared he's reaching out because he feels like he has to, not because he genuinely feels ready. He knows Medda and Spot really want him to do this, and I know they're not trying to pressure him about it, but it's driving him crazy. He just wants everyone to be happy, even if that means he's not. He's frustrating like that."

Race laughs halfheartedly, clearly understanding where Davey is coming from.

"That's Jack Kelly for you," he says, fondly. "Never puts himself first. What a guy."

Davey rolls his eyes as he starts down the hallway towards the stairs.

" _What_ _a_ _guy_ is right..." he sighs. "Anyways, I'm on my way over. I'll see you in a few."

 

-

 

From Jack and Davey's apartment to Spot and Race's in Brooklyn is about fifteen minutes, or just a few subway stops.

Davey used to hate taking the subway with a burning passion, but he's since gotten over it, considering that he's gay so he clearly can't drive, but he still needs to get places. Besides, driving in New York is a nightmare anyways, Davey probably wouldn't bother even if he knew how.

The door is propped slightly open, so he walks in to see Race standing in the kitchen, throwing some snacks and a water bottle into his dance bag.

“God, I love you, Davey,” he says quietly as he sees Davey walking in. His tone is joking, but his expression reads as totally genuine. “Have I ever told you how incredible you are? You’re literally saving my life here.”

Davey takes the hint to keep the volume low, as Spot is probably either sleeping or just unable to tolerate much noise.

Race hates hugs, and Davey knows it, but that doesn’t stop him from holding out his arms as an invitation. Sometimes even the most touch-averse people need one, right?

He guessed right, because Race walks over and collapses into the embrace.

“Fuck, I’m just so worried about him,” whispers Race, resting his head on Davey’s shoulder. “I know I’m being dramatic. He’ll probably be fine in a few days, once he’s used to his new pills. But, like… I just get so scared that something’s gonna go wrong. He could start having seizures again, when he hasn’t had one in five years, and we’d be back at square one with trying to find pills that work. And if he has a seizure now, after all this time, that means something’s gotta be seriously wrong. He’s been weird lately, I always have to repeat myself a million times before he knows what I’m saying. I dunno if he’s just tired or if he’s really havin’, like, brain problems. And it’s probably _nothing_! But it scares me so bad.” Race pauses, pulls away from the hug, and shakes his head. “I’m frustrated, is all. I want him to feel better.”

Davey gives Race a few more seconds, just in case he’s got more to say, and then gently pats him on the shoulder.

“Do _you_ feel any better, getting all that off your chest?” He smiles softly when Race nods. “You deserve to go distract yourself for a while. I’m sure you’ve been taking really good care of him. Go dance your heart out.” 

Race glances to the clock and clearly realizes he has to get going, he’s probably late— the kid’s face reads like a book. 

“You’re an angel, Jacobs,” he says, throwing his bag over his shoulder and slipping on his obnoxious knock-off Gucci slides. “I’ll bring home a pizza when I’m done. See ya in a few hours, thank you so fucking much.”

And with that, he’s gone. Davey sighs, shakes his head, and figures he should check in with Spot, try and figure out what’s really going on.

As he enters Spot and Race’s bedroom, he realizes that he never did send Jack that text to check in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there we are!!! does anyone else sense some foreshadowing? is race right about spot’s sickness being nothing? or is there something more serious to worry about? what is jack getting up to at medda’s???
> 
> i’m gonna crank out as much writing as possible in my last week of summer break, so we’ll see where that gets us!! i’m starting college on september 4th so i may have to take a break from writing while i get adjusted!!
> 
> i will try to keep y’all updated on tumblr!! also, while i was having writers block on this one, i filled a bunch of tumblr requests and i have a bunch more to work on!! i’ll be posting them there as well as in my one-shot collection on here!
> 
> thank you for reading!!! please please please leave a comment if you’re enjoying this story!!!


	10. never let you go before the fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> good things are happening, scary things are happening, it’s all starting to feel like a climax is approaching, isn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M BACK!
> 
> so listen... these once-a-month updates are probably gonna be the norm from here on out. unfortunately life is kicking me in the ass right now and this fic has become the bottom of my priority list. i have been filling requests on tumblr lately because they’re much easier to do, so check those out if you’re looking to read more of my stuff?
> 
> anyways,,
> 
> the boys are back. uhhh jack is stupid, davey is trying his best, and everything is going to shit so.... enjoy?

If there's anything to know about Jack Kelly, it's that he has a horrible impulsive streak.

Jack just likes _doing_ things. He likes to act first, and consider the consequences later. To say it's gotten him into trouble before would be an understatement.

It's also important to note that Medda— though a responsible adult with three children and a successful business— is a bit of an enabler to Jack's shenanigans. If she doesn't see a major, life-threatening problem with a plan, she won't shut it down. She says she likes for Jack to make his own decisions and learn the hard way if he has to, but it sometimes seems that she just likes to laugh at him when things go horribly wrong.

Anyways, this is why they're now sitting here, dwelling on the fact that Jack's biological mother is coming over for dinner tonight— an idea brought forward by Jack and made a reality by Medda.

Was it a bit of a mistake to randomly call her up for last-minute dinner plans? Maybe. Will Jack end up regretting this and crying into Davey's arms when he gets home? _Probably_. But it's too late now to change his mind, so he's just going to think positively and hope for the best.

"This'll be good, right?" asks Jack, who's lying on the living room floor, having a minor crisis. "Just getting it over with and not having to think too hard about it! It'll be great."

Medda does nothing more than laugh and nod along, probably dealing with enough nerves of her own. Jack is distracted before she can say anything anyways, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

**Davey-baby:** _How are things going?? Are you staying there for supper or not? Keep me posted! I love you!_

Jack sighs happily upon reading it, overwhelmed by just how pure and sweet his fiancé is. If there's anything he's looking forward to tonight, it's bragging to his mother about how incredible Davey is— how he’s everything Jack’s father wasn’t.

**Jack:** _well ok, funny story- my mom is coming to medda's for dinner? in my defence you weren't here to save me from my own bad decisions! hahaha love you too!_

Jack figures that if he sounds casual enough, this won't seem like a big deal and Davey won't freak out. Hopefully.

**Davey-baby:** _wait WHAT_

Or maybe not.

Jack starts to type out a response attempting to justify his decision, but an incoming call from Davey overtakes his screen before he can think of anything reasonable to say.

" _Jack Kelly_ ," says Davey, immediately when Jack answers the call. " _Explain, please_."

Jack sighs and takes a second to scramble for any kind of coherent response.

"Well, I... hang on— why are you whispering?"

" _Long story,_ " replies Davey, still in a hushed tone. " _But Spot is sleeping and I don't wanna wake him up. It's not important— you have to explain first._ "

Jack frowns in a confusion at that and shoots Medda a glance. She's not paying much attention to him, more preoccupied with whatever she's doing on her phone— probably either playing Candy Crush or texting the parent of whoever it is that Smalls is having a slumber party with tonight, somewhere a few blocks away.

"Why are you...?" Jack ultimately just rolls his eyes and shakes his head, deciding not to put too much thought into why Davey is hanging out with a sleeping Spot. "Whatever. Tell me later. But yeah... my mom is coming for dinner tonight, Medda invited her."

" _Jack..._ " Davey sighs heavily, and he's probably doing the thing where he pinches the bridge of his nose in some kind of an effort to contain his exasperation and not get too stressed out. " _I mean, I'm not mad or anything— you can make your own decisions— but I just really want to know what made you think this was a good idea. I can't understand why you would want to do this._ "

Jack sighs and tries to think of how to word his reasoning. Surprisingly, he's not as stupid as he seems, and he really does have an explanation for this. He's just having a hard time getting it out.

"Well," he pauses, a bit hesitant, and then continues. "Think about it like— what do I actually have to lose? It goes badly and, what, I'm upset for a few days and I never talk to her again? I haven't seen her in years, so nothing will change if we go back to not talking. I'll still have my real family, Medda and Spot and Smalls, and I'll still have _you_. You're the most important person to me, so even if everything goes to shit, I know I'll be fine because I have you." He pauses, waiting for Davey to say something, but nothing comes. "Did... Did that make sense?"

There's a moment of quiet between them while Davey processes everything Jack has just said.

" _Yeah, it made sense_ ," he says, after a while. " _I can't necessarily say I think this is a good idea, but I get where you're coming from._ " He pauses for a long second. " _Just... you're really brave, you know? It takes a lot of courage to just throw yourself in the deep end._ "

Jack snorts at that.

"You say courage, I say serious lack of a self-preservation instinct, but it's the same shit, I guess." He swats absentmindedly at a fly that must have snuck into the house through an open window. "I think it'll be fine. And if not, I'll just make you come cuddle me until I cry myself to sleep. Be ready for it, Jacobs."

" _Of course_ ," says Davey with a laugh. " _Well, just keep me posted, okay? I was gonna ask if you wanted to come have pizza at Spot and Race's, but I guess you have other plans_."

"Why are you there?" asks Jack, because who has time to phrase things eloquently when you could just be perfectly blunt? "And why is Spot sleeping?"

Medda shoots him a weird look and Jack can do nothing more than shrug.

" _He's sick,_ " says Davey. " _It's gotta be a weird reaction to his meds— he's just tired and nauseous and I think he has a migraine or something. Race had to work but he was worried about leaving Spot alone, so I'm babysitting_."

Jack doesn't even realize he's frowning until he notices Medda's concerned stare.

"Shit," he says, quietly, his mind immediately going to ever horrible vision he's ever had of Spot being sick again, like what happened years ago. He can vividly remember when Spot was twelve years old and he'd had such a bad fit of seizures that his doctors had to put him into a fucking coma, just to stop them. Jack never wants him to ever have to go through that again. "That's... not good. Let me know if anything happens, okay? If he has a seizure you have to call an ambulance, because that’s not supposed to happen anymore, okay? Not when he’s medicated, so something is definitely wrong if he has a fit. It’s been years since his last one.”

He can practically see Davey roll his eyes.

" _Breathe, Jack_ ," he says, totally not here for Jack's overthinking. " _For all we know, he could just have a bad cold. He's doing completely fine. You have a lot going on tonight and this is the last thing you need to worry about. Put yourself first for once, okay? Don't worry about him._ "

Jack can still feel his anxious frown tugging at the corners of his mouth but he attempts to take a deep breath. He can tell when he’s getting himself worked up over nothing, but he’s powerless to stop it. He can feel his heart rate speeding up and he mentally curses his own anxiety.

"Okay," he agrees, shaking his head and trying to calm down. "Fuck, I can't help it. Worrying about him is what I do best." He sighs and flops his free arm out beside him, where he's still laying on the floor. "Take good care of him, Davey." A glance at the clock on the wall tells him that he's only got fifteen minutes to make himself presentable for dinner, so it's probably time to wrap this up. "My mom's coming soon so I'm gonna shut my phone off so I don't get distracted, I'll talk to you later. I love you so much."

_"I love you too_ ," says Davey, a sense of fondness finally overtaking his exasperation. " _Good luck, babe. Call me later and fill me in, okay? Give Medda a hug from me!_ "

Jack laughs and finally pushes himself up into a sitting position.

"For sure," he says, unable to stop himself from smiling. "See you later, Davey."

" _Bye Jackie, see you!_ "

And with that, Jack drops his phone on the floor and sighs deeply. There's no backing out of this one now.

 

-

 

Just as Davey hangs up his call with Jack, he looks up to see Spot finally emerging from his bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

He's been asleep since Davey got here, so they haven't actually had a chance to greet each other, or for Davey to assess just how sick he is.

"Hey," says Spot, standing in the doorway to the living room. He looks at Davey with a slightly puzzled expression for a moment, as if he'd expected to see Race sitting there instead. "You're— um, where's Racer?" He pauses, but before Davey can answer he adds on: "I mean, I'm happy to see you, obviously. Just confused."

Davey catches himself frowning a little as he replies:

"Race didn't tell you before he left? He had to go to work, but he was nervous leaving you alone while you're sick... so I'm here."

Spot's frown matches Davey's for a moment as he stares at the floor, a looked of frustrated concentration in his eyes.

"Oh," he says, after a few seconds, nodding slowly. "Maybe he did tell me that. I just, uh, forgot, I guess." He rubs at his eyes one more time and then shakes his head as if to clear it. "I was half-asleep when he told me. Sorry about that."

Davey's not going to take this as a red flag that he should be concerned about Spot, necessarily, but it is interesting. Between what Race had said about Spot taking a while to understand and reciprocate conversation, and now this, it's certainly something to consider. 

"It's all good," says Davey, electing to ignore his concerns. "So, how are you feeling?"

Spot shrugs. He looks tired, and his skin is awfully pale, but he altogether outwardly seems pretty much fine. He rubs at his temples before he can answer, wincing a little. 

"This fuckin' _headache_ , man," he grumbles. "It's killing me. And I want pasta— that's also killing me. I need noodles in me now."

Davey is immediately on his feet, jolting into mom-friend-mode. 

"I'll make you some!" he says, and he's not even sure where he's grabbed a blanket from, but he's wrapping it around Spot's shoulders and pushing him down to sit on the couch. "Do you want something for your headache? Are you able to take painkillers with your meds?"

Spot laughs and flops over on the couch, apparently more than content to let Davey mother him.

"I can't, at least not while I'm still adjusting. But Race's sister gave us these… these _essential oil_ things," he says, snorting somewhat incredulously. “I don’t know if they work or not but they smell real nice and I rub ‘em on my head and feel a little better.”

Davey rolls his eyes as he heads into the kitchen. 

“Those are such a load of bullshit,” he says, continuing the conversation from the other room. “There’s no way they actually do anything.”

Spot laughs, and Davey can hear him getting to his feet. 

“They smell _so good_ , though, Davey,” he says, heading back down the hall to his room, probably to get some of the ridiculous oils. “I have one for stress relief— which _you_ could probably use— and I swear it’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled. You have to try it.”

Davey rolls his eyes yet again as he fills a pot with water and sets it on the stove to boil.

At least Spot is feeling well enough to get up and walk around, and to carry a conversation. That’s has to be a good sign— Davey was probably right in figuring that it was some kind of 24-hour bug, and he’ll be on the mend in no time. 

“What type of noodle do you want?” calls Davey. “There’s like four different kinds in this cupboard!”

Weirdly enough, he gets no response. 

“Hey Spot!” Davey tries again. “What fuckin’ pasta do you want?”

Once again, nothing. He can’t hear footsteps anymore either, which is strange considering that Spot seems to have only made it partway down the hall. 

Davey sighs quietly and sets off to investigate. 

When he makes it to the hallway, there’s Spot. He’s just standing there, staring blankly at the wall. He seems totally zoned out, which is now starting to set off red flags in Davey’s head. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Davey asks, and Spot doesn’t even turn to look at him. “Sean… can you hear me— oh _Jesus_!”

Davey, purely by reflex, jumps backwards as Spot suddenly crumples to the floor, knocking the back of his head on the hardwood with a considerable amount of force. His eyes are still open but totally vacant, staring up at the ceiling. 

Before Davey even has time to process that Spot has just brained himself on the floor, what Davey thinks must be a seizure begins. He’s never actually seen one before, but this seems pretty well like what it should look like. 

The tremors start in Spot’s right arm and slowly work their way through his whole body until he’s full-on convulsing. He’s making a high-pitched whining noise and thrashing his head back and forth, slamming it repeatedly on the floor. His shoulders are nearly lifting off the ground as his back arches, and— dear god— it doesn’t look like he’s even breathing. 

“Oh my god,” whispers Davey, as he pulls out his phone, punching in 911 and fumbling nervously with it as he tries to press it to his ear. “Holy shit, _oh my god_.”

The next few minutes are a blur as he speaks to the operator and tries to hurriedly follow her instructions, sliding a pillow under Spot’s head to protect it and trying to turn him onto his side to keep him from choking. 

Spot goes still eventually, several minutes after his initial collapse. Davey is the one shaking now, unable to stop the nervous tremor in his hands, even as he lets the paramedics in and watches them work. 

The only thought on his mind as he locks up the apartment and runs downstairs to see if there’s going to be room for him to ride along in the ambulance is: 

_I’m the worst fucking friend-babysitter in the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, that happened. 
> 
> spot was clearly Not Fine, and i liked how many of you gave your thoughts on what might be wrong last chapter! after this development, do you guys think he’s just reacting badly to meds, or is there something more serious going on?
> 
> also, jack is going to see his mother next chapter! any predictions on how that will go down, especially with what’s just happened to spot?
> 
> as always, feel free to leave a comment of kudos, or even come drop me an ask on tumblr!
> 
> thank you for reading! <3


	11. i don’t wanna let this go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jack and his mother. it’s finally happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay yes i’m aware it’s been over a month since i updated so here’s 3.4k words to make up for it? 
> 
> i don’t have much time for writing but i promise i’m not forgetting about/losing interest in this story! writing a work this long and complicated is harder that it looks! new chapters will be out when i can make it happen, and i hope to make some progress on the next one during reading week next week. 
> 
> so jack’s mother finally makes an appearance here. quick, make your predictions before the chapter starts and see how the story compares!
> 
> enjoy!!!!

Jack Kelly is standing in the bathroom, staring himself down in the mirror and gripping the counter with white knuckles.

_This isn't happening right now,_ he tells himself.

He's not about to have a panic attack when his mother is going to be here any minute. He's not going to start crying and hyperventilating in the bathroom like an anxious mess, because he's stronger than that and he knows it.

He just wants Davey, honestly. Davey is good at calming Jack down, he always knows what to say. Only Davey or Spot could help now, but Jack has already turned off his phone so as to not get distracted, and he's sure they've both got enough going on without him bothering them anyways, what with Spot being sick in bed. This fucking _sucks_.

Jack lets out a long, shaky breath, and tries to disregard the tears welling up in his eyes. If he pretends it isn't happening, maybe it'll stop.

His stomach drops when he hears the front door open downstairs. He can't make out what's being said, but he can hear Medda's voice accompanied by another that he just vaguely recognizes.

She's actually fucking here. It's been nine years, and she's _finally_ here.

Shaking his head, he releases his grip on the counter and stumbles backwards until he's leaning on the wall. He slides down so that he's sitting on the floor and then presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, as sometimes the pressure can ground him when it feels like he's going to drift off into a panic.

"Fuck..." he whispers, willing himself with every ounce of strength he possesses not to cry. His heart is pounding in his ears and he can't seem to stop shaking. "Oh god. It's okay. I'm fine. I'm gonna be okay."

And then, of course, it's happening. He's unable to stop the stressed-out tears escaping his eyes, and his attempt at taking a deep breath comes out as a strange sort of choked sob.

_Shit, shit, fuck._

Jack sits there for a moment before he rubs furiously at his eyes and shakes his head. He doesn't have time for this. His mom is downstairs and he needs to go see her.

In a strange whirlwind of motivation, Jack pushes himself to his feet and resumes in staring at his own reflection.

"Stop crying, pussy," he whispers, pointing firmly at himself, his voice cracking, before laughing softly at just how ridiculous he looks trying to give himself a pep talk in the mirror. "There's nothing to be fucking scared of. She can't hurt you anymore. All you're doing is having dinner. You're fine."

Jack shakes his hands as if to shake the anxiety right out of them, then turns on the tap to splash his face a little and bring down the puffiness around his eyes.

He stands back up, dries his face on a towel and nods firmly at his own reflection. He runs a hand through his hair, making sure it's styled the way he likes, and that's that. It's time.

He takes one more deep breath, and then opens the door and makes his way downstairs.

-

In the meantime, Davey is, to put it lightly, _freaking the hell out._

First of all, no one is answering his texts or calls. He's tried to get ahold of Jack, Medda, and Race, but he figures they've all probably got their phones turned off, being as busy as they are tonight. He thought about calling Albert or Elmer, but those two are off biking through the fucking wilderness or something because they're an _adventure couple_ and they like _doing activities_ and _going off the grid_ because they're still in college and they're both done their finals. Ugh, gross.

Spot had been rushed into the Emergency Room close to half an hour ago now and Davey has just been sitting in the waiting area feeling utterly useless. He's had no updates, which is somewhat concerning, though the paramedics in the ambulance had said it just looked like a normal epileptic seizure and there was nothing to be immediately worried about.

Unfortunately, Davey is very good at worrying. He's been picturing everything that could possibly go wrong, including seeing some scarring mental images of having to break the news to Race or Jack that Spot hadn't made it. He's not sure what he would even say, or how anyone in their friend-slash-family group would handle it. It's probably better not to think about that.

Everything is probably fine. It was probably just some wonky meds not working well enough, and Spot just had a normal, regular seizure. It was probably nothing to worry about— he'll have to change his dosage. But then again... he hit his head on the ground _so fucking hard_. What if he's got a concussion? He could have brain damage, or—

Davey shakes his head, trying to stop the metaphorical runaway train that is his overthinking habit. It's fine. Everything's fine.

He quickly searches his pockets for a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, but all he finds is a tube of lip balm. God damn it. He's not about to ask a stranger to lend him a smoke, so he's shit out of luck.

With a resigned sigh, Davey tucks his phone into his pocket, pulls up the hood on his hoodie, and leans back in the hard plastic chair that he'd claimed. He left messages telling everyone to call him back as soon as possible, and there's nothing he can do until they actually get those instructions, so he's just going to have to sit here and wait.

He sure hopes Jack is having a better night than he is.

-

The last time Jack Kelly saw his mother, they'd both been crying.

It's the last memory he has of her— there'd been police officers and paramedics in their apartment; his father was in handcuffs; and Jack's fourteen year-old self had been sobbing in pain and fear as the EMTs tried to check him over. He can remember seeing his mother crying and trying to reach out to him, only to be held back by a police officer. He had been grateful for it in the moment, he hadn't wanted her anywhere near him. There'd been too many hands on him and too much noise and he'd simply been unable to stop crying and panicking. He'd genuinely thought he was going to die.

It hadn't been a good night. It's not a good memory.

So when Jack lays eyes on her for the first time since that awful night, he's not sure how to react. He walks downstairs, into the living room, to see her and Medda sitting on the couch together. They look... at ease. Happy, even. Like they're getting along— they almost look like they're friends. Jack doesn't really know what to think of that.

"Hi guys," he settles for saying, with all the nonchalance of someone trying to pretend they weren't just crying on the bathroom floor. "Sorry, I was... uh, just in the bathroom."

He gives an awkward little wave as their conversation falls quiet and they both look at him. He can see Medda trying to hold back a giggle at his awkwardness, so he briefly shoots her what he hopes comes across as a dirty look. She rolls her eyes and stifles another laugh, to which Jack sticks out his tongue.

In the meantime, Jack's mother is simply staring at him. Her face is pretty much unreadable as she takes in his appearance— a mixture of sad and happy that Jack finds difficult to decipher, once he finishes being silly and actually directs his attention to her.

She doesn't look that different. Older, sure, and she's certainly wearing less makeup and nicer clothes, but the parts of her that Jack remembered the most vividly are the same— her eyes; the shape of her mouth; her long, shiny, dark hair. She somehow seems totally new and closely familiar all at once.

"Jack..." she says, after a moment. She sounds like she could cry, and Jack hates to admit that he probably could too. " _Mijo_... it's been so long."

Jack can do nothing more than nod, a lump in his throat preventing him from speaking. It has indeed been a very long time.

He stands there, frozen, as she gets up from the couch and walks over to him.  He can't help that he flinches away when she reaches out to touch his face. He even takes a little step back to put more space between them, because somewhere in his subconsciousness, he's not totally sure he trusts her yet.

"I..." She looks heartbroken as she pauses, taking a deep breath, the hand she'd reached out with just lingering in the air until she draws it back to her chest. She shakes her head and looks to the floor. "I owe you an apology, baby."

Jack remains frozen for a long moment. Eventually, the connection between his brain and his body seems to reestablish and he's able to nod and say:

"Yeah... Yeah, you do."

The air between them is thick with tension. Jack isn't sure how he'd expected to feel upon seeing her, but he'd certainly been hoping to avoid the twisting knot of fear and anger that currently resides in the pit of his stomach. He hates how resentful he feels towards her. It's almost like years and years of feeling betrayed and abandoned that he'd never previously acknowledged are finally coming to the surface.

"We should..." she trails off and reaches out her hand again, this time like she wants Jack to take it. "Will you sit with me?"

Jack looks down at her hand and makes no move to grab it. A conversation, he can probably manage, but physical contact? Absolutely not. His heart is already pounding in his chest and even just touching her hand would make it infinitely worse.

He walks past her to sit on the couch, trying not to let her see him tug on the bottom hem of his shirt as an effort to expel some of his anxiety. He needs one of those fidget toys that Race likes so much, maybe just a little one that he could squish between his fingers. He settles for sliding his hands under his thighs once he sits, to hold them down, and letting one of his legs bounce away some of his tension.

His mother sits down, careful to leave a foot or so of space between them, and the awkward air lingers there quietly, like a thick fog of unspoken emotion.

Medda stands up suddenly, clearly not sure what to do with herself in this odd situation.

"I'll go work on dinner," she says, her voice finally cutting through the haze of tension in the room. She rubs Jack's shoulder gently as she walks past him, and seems to notice the terrified look on his face. "I'll just be in the kitchen." She pauses and looks at Jack seriously, keeping her hand on his shoulder. "You can come get me if you need me. All we want is for you to be comfortable, baby."

_We_ — as if she and Jack's mother had planned this together. As if they're friends. As if this is all some operation they've contrived to get Jack and his mother back together, even though he's not sure that's even what he wants. Like Medda wants to get rid of him and give him back to his _real_ mother or something— like this is all some big trick that's being played on him.

"Okay," he says softly, consciously attempting to let his random, angry thoughts go. There's no use in getting mad. He's being irrational. Neither of them want to hurt him. He takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He's okay. "Thanks, ma."

Medda walks out, and Jack is alone with his mother. There's immediately a sudden, panicked tightness in his chest— an underlying feeling that he's done something wrong and he's about to be yelled at, that she's going to call him stupid and worthless and ask him why he can never do anything right. He feels the same sinking fear that he used to, like his dad could walk in at any minute and beat the shit out of him. He looks at the tv remote on the coffee table, and all he sees is a weapon that someone could hit him with. He can already feel the particular type of bruise it would leave. _He's not safe here. He needs to get out. He's not okay._

Before Jack can tumble further into his panic, his mother's voice pulls him out. She doesn't sound angry. She's not mad. She sounds... worried. 

" _Pobrecito_..." she whispers, and when Jack glances to her, he can tell she wants to reach out and hug him but she knows better than to try. "You're shaking. Are you alright?"

Slowly, jerkily, Jack nods. He closes his eyes again and tries to ground himself. He's not fifteen, they're not back in their apartment, his dad isn't here. They're at Medda's house, and he's twenty-four years old. He's all grown up and no one can hurt him. 

"I'm sorry," says Jack, after a moment, nearly breathless from his panic. "I didn't think I'd freak out like this. It's just... a lot. I'm nervous."

His mother takes a deep breath and Jack attempts to follow her lead, taking one of his own. 

"I understand, _mijo_." She sounds serious and mature, so different than the version of her that he once knew. "It breaks my heart that you're so scared of me. Everything that happened... it wasn't right. You didn't deserve to be hurt. I don't even know how to explain how sorry I am. I know an apology can't fix anything now, but I hope you can at least try to find it in your heart to forgive me. I’ll do anything you need me to do to help you make that happen."

Jack swallows thickly. That's a lot to take in. 

"I... I appreciate that," he says. He looks down at his hands, not sure he can look at her and talk to her at the same time. He's trying to stay calm. He can do this. "Thank you." There's a long pause before Jack speaks again, in some weird attempt to make conversation and find out more about her. "So... you've been sober a while? That's really good— must've been hard."

She nods solemnly. 

"It _was_ hard," she says, somewhat awkwardly, like this isn't what she wants to talk about. "It took a long time of getting better for a while and then getting bad again— it felt like I was trapped for a while. But I've been clean for two years now. It's been good."

Jack just nods. There's a follow-up question sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he's not sure it would be right to ask it. 

Fuck it. Nothing to lose, right?

"How did it start?" he asks. "The drugs, I mean. How did things get so bad?" He immediately feels bad for asking, and opens his mouth to apologize and backtrack, but he cuts himself off when his mother just nods and sighs. 

“I figured you’d ask,” she says. “You deserve an explanation, as much as I wish we didn’t have to talk about it.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods slightly. His desperation for an answer outweighs the guilt he feels for bringing up what was obviously a terrible time for both of them. 

“Things weren’t always bad,” she starts with. “They weren’t _easy_ — your father and I were sixteen when you were born. We had to drop out of school as soon as we found out and start working so we could take care of you. Our parents weren’t the most supportive, so we basically just… ran away. We found some shady landlord who would lease us a place even though we were underage, and then you were born, and we went straight from being kids to being parents. It was hard, but we were happy.”

She pauses for long enough for Jack to interject. 

“You guys were off on your own at sixteen?” he asks, unable to imagine his sixteen year-old self doing much other than playing video games on weeknights and binge drinking on weekends. Sixteen year-old Jack definitely wouldn’t have been prepared to care for himself, let alone a baby. Hell, Jack isn’t sure he’d even be ready to be a parent now. “That’s… actually crazy.”

She laughs softly and nods. 

“It _was_ crazy,” she says. “We did our best for you, but it was really hard for the first few years. By the time you were four or five… things were a lot better. Your dad had a steady job, I was working too, you were starting school. We were finally stable and _really_ happy.” She pauses and swallows thickly. “That’s when we got pregnant again.”

Jack feels his eyes go wide. _What the fuck?_ Obviously he was young at the time, but he’s sure he’d remember having a younger sibling. That’s kind of a _very_ significant thing to happen. 

“You were supposed to be a big brother,” his mother continues, softly. “We were so excited. We even had her name picked out— we called her Emily…” She shakes her head and takes a deep, shaky breath. “But I had a miscarriage at sixteen weeks.”

Jack is at a loss for words. He’d nearly been a big brother to an actual, blood-related sister. Of course he loves the little siblings he has and wouldn’t trade them for anything, but he’d nearly had an actual sister. They probably would’ve looked alike, even acted alike sometimes. He nearly laughs at how much of a nightmare that would’ve been for anyone who had to look after them. 

“Shit…” is all he’s able to say, still processing the information. “I… I had no idea. That’s awful.”

His mother simply nods, and Jack finally feels ready to reach out and grab her outstretched hand. She’d left it there as a kind of offer, just in case Jack wanted to touch, and now he finally feels the need to. 

It doesn’t send his anxiety skyrocketing, like he’d expected. If anything, it starts to calm him down, just the way a mother’s touch should. 

“And that’s where things got bad,” she sighs. “I was so upset by all of it, I felt like such a failure, and I started with the pills because I thought they could make that feeling go away. All they actually made me forget was how to be a mother to the baby that I already had— I should’ve never treated you the way that I did: ignoring you and being so mean to you. When your dad started drinking, we should have left. I should’ve taken you far away from him. I never should have let all those terrible things happen. I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am, Jack.”

A tears runs down her cheek and Jack can feel a lump building in his own throat, tears threatening to build in his eyes. 

He’d always kind of known, deep down, that his mother really loved him. On the rare times, as a kid, that he was around her while she wasn’t high, she was caring and sweet and everything she was supposed to be. She took care of him as well as she could, for being so horribly addicted. She _tried_ , and that’s enough for Jack. 

“It’s gonna take some time,” says Jack, after a long moment of quiet, willing his voice not to break, “before I can say I totally forgive you. But I understand now, so I think I’m on the right track. I… I want to forgive you, and I think I’ll be able to get there someday. I…” He pauses for a second, hesitant. “ _Te quiero, mamà_.”

With that, Jack, very awkwardly, opens his arms for a hug. His mother accepts it immediately, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. 

Jack takes a deep breath and, surprisingly, doesn’t feel that panicked anymore. 

Maybe tonight will be a good night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowowowow it finally happened!! did jack react better or worse than you expected? i’m personally very proud of my boy. 
> 
> before you ask— we WILL find out more about spot next chapter. i just like keeping you on the edge of your seat ;)
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated, and i’m still taking some requests on tumblr so feel free to stop by!!


	12. is the cup half full or empty?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> is spot dead?? we finally find out!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone i don’t have much to say other than i’m very tired and being sick sucks but it gave me time to write so please enjoy
> 
> :)

Davey has been sitting at the hospital for nearly an hour when a nurse finally tells him that Spot is, in fact,  _ not _ dead, and he’ll be able to go see him.    
  
"We've moved him upstairs to the neurology ward," the nurse says, while Davey is half-asleep and barely comprehending her. "The nurses up there are experts in helping patients with seizures, so he's in very good hands."   
  
Davey nods slowly. He'd managed to drift off in this uncomfortable chair for a while, so now he's groggy and tired and not sure he understands what's going on. No one he’d tried to phone has called him back, so he's still sitting here alone, and he's incredibly over this shit.    
  
"But is he okay?" he asks, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. It's not even eight o'clock yet, but this day has completely drained him and he just wants to go to bed. "What's the matter with him? Is he hurt really bad?"   
  
The nurse is holding a little clipboard, likely containing a bunch of information about Spot, and she gets a kind of sad, sympathetic look on her face as she reads it.    
  
"He's alright," she finally says, which quickly takes some of the weight off of Davey's shoulders. "He's stable, but we're not entirely sure what's wrong yet. He'll go for an MRI in the morning and see if they can't have a look at what's causing the seizures. It wasn't quite clear from what tests the ER doctors could do. He'll be able to see a neurologist tomorrow and hopefully get some answers."   
  
Davey nods once again, happy to accept the answer and move on to actually  _ seeing _ Spot and being sure that he's alright, but something in those words has rubbed him the wrong way. He frowns, suddenly feeling a bit more awake and slightly impressed at his own perceptiveness.    
  
"Wait... seizures,  _ plural _ ?" he asks, feeling somewhat like a modern Sherlock Holmes for having caught that. "Like... more than one? He had more?"   
  
The nurse sighs slightly as she looks over the paper again.    
  
"He's had a few since he got here," she says, and then she pauses as her eyes scan across the page and Davey's stomach drops. "It looks like only one of those was convulsive, though. The rest, there's about four, were just absences— the kind you'd hardly notice, where it just seems like he's zoning out for a little while."   
  
Davey nods again, but suddenly registers the feeling of his heart thumping in his chest. Now that he thinks back, Spot has been zoning out quite a lot lately— could that have been a tiny seizure every time? This is bad, bad, bad. Something has to be seriously wrong.    
  
"I can see him now, though?" asks Davey, trying not to show just how worried he is. "He's doing okay for now?"   
  
"Yeah," says the nurse, and Davey has to give her props for being so friendly because she looks to be dead tired. "I'll just have to look up his room number, you can come over to the desk with me."   
  
Davey stands up to go with her, cringing at the way his back cracks when he gets up. He rolls his neck a little and does a couple shoulder circles before following her and sighing deeply to himself.    
  
At least there's not much that could make this night worse, right?   
  
-   
  
In the meantime, at Medda’s house, Jack Kelly is realizing just how much he hates talking about himself.    
  
When the conversation had been about the past and all the bullshit that had gone down, sure he'd been anxious and slightly uncomfortable, but even that had been easier to handle than the barrage of questions about his career and his education and his fiancé and his future and, well,  _ everything _ .    
  
They're sitting around the dinner table and Jack has been the main topic of discussion for the past twenty minutes. He kind of wants to crawl into a hole and die.    
  
Not to get all philosophical, but maybe it's because he feels a little like he's bragging, when he talks about his life. He's been very successful in a great career, he's got a loving family and an amazing fiancé, and he's fairly well-off financially compared to other people his age because of his high position in his job. He's got it  _ really _ good.    
  
When his mother was twenty-four, she was homeless, drug-addicted, and stuck with an abusive husband and an eight year-old child that she didn't know how to look after. Maybe that's why Jack feels a little uncomfortable talking about how great his life is— she didn't have it this easy. He'd been so excited to brag to her, to finally show her that no matter how badly she'd screwed him over, he'd come out on top. But now he's talked to her and listened to her and... he doesn't really hate her anymore. He doesn't want to brag anymore. He just feels bad for her.    
  
"Tell me more about your fiancé, baby," she says, after Jack has run out of things to say about his career. "I'd love to meet him someday, if that's something you'd be alright with."   
  
Jack awkwardly shovels another bite of food into his mouth and then nods slowly as he swallows in order to allow himself some more time to decide what to say. This is a slightly more comfortable topic, simply because this is his favourite subject and he could talk about Davey all day.    
  
"Well, Davey is the love of my life," says Jack, blushing a little at the way both Medda and his mother coo at him. "Seriously. He makes me so happy. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I think he'd be happy to meet you sometime." He suddenly pauses, remembering his earlier conversation with Davey. "You know, I should check if he's texted me, my phone's been off." He directs his next words to Medda while pulling his phone from his pocket and turning it on. "He was gonna let me know how Spot's doing. Nothing's probably changed but I'll get paranoid if I don't look."   
  
Jack taps his feet anxiously as his screen slowly lights up and the device tries to find service.    
  
"Spot is my younger boy," explains Medda, trying to keep the conversation going as Jack watches his screen. She chuckles lightly. "His name is really Sean, but Jack nicknamed him and it stuck. He's a bit sick today and I think Davey was looking after him for the evening, the absolute sweetheart. David's a lovely boy, he's been amazing for Jack."   
  
The conversation continues, but Jack zones it out completely as he watches nearly a dozen texts roll in, as well as five missed calls.    
  
**_Davey-baby_ ** _ : you have to call me ASAP _ __   
**_Davey-baby_ ** _ : jack please it's important _ __   
**_Davey-baby_ ** _ : im serious call me as soon as you read this please _ __   
  
All the texts continue in this fashion and Jack feels his heart drop to his stomach.    
  
He doesn't even excuse himself before darting out of the room, already pressing his phone to his ear.    
  
-   
  
Davey finally gets a call from Jack as he's waiting for the elevator up to where Spot is. There's a small crowd of people who are also waiting, so he steps away to go find a more private space to take the call. He ends up leaning on the side of a vending machine in the corner of the waiting room.    
  
"Hi baby," he sighs immediately upon answering, incredibly relieved to finally have someone to talk to who isn't hospital staff. "How are you doing?"   
  
" _ How am I doing!? That's not important right now _ ," sputters Jack. " _ What's going on? Are you okay? I saw your texts _ ."   
  
Davey takes a deep breath, trying to centre himself enough to even explain this whole fucked-up situation. Jack has had to deal with enough shit tonight, so it's up to Davey to break this to him carefully.    
  
"I'm at the hospital with Spot," he says, trying to speak as gently as possible and not scare Jack too much. He pauses for a second to let Jack process that, and then continues. He keeps his voice level and calm, careful not to convey all the worry he's feeling. "He had a bad seizure earlier tonight, and he's had a few more little ones since we got here. I don't know really what's going on, but they're gonna keep him overnight and do an MRI in the morning. He's stable for now though— I was just about to finally go see him."   
  
Jack is unnervingly quiet for a long moment.    
  
" _ Fuck _ ," he finally sighs, and when he speaks again, Davey can hear the panic rising in his voice. " _ That's bad. Holy shit. Oh my god. Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can _ ."   
  
"Jack, stop," interjects Davey, cutting him off. "Worry about  _ you _ first, okay? You don't have to come here if you're in the middle of something. I wanted to tell you what’s going on, but I don’t expect you to drop everything you’re doing. I'm here and Race will be here soon— if that little shit ever calls me back— so Spot will be fine. I was just calling to let you know what’s happening. How are things going with your mom?"   
  
Jack hesitates for a moment, probably wanting to continue to freak out about Spot, but he eventually just sighs.    
  
" _ It's... good, I think _ ," he says. " _ I think I’ve been handling it okay, and it's been nice to find out more about her. I missed her more than I thought. There was no fighting or anything— we got along pretty well once I stopped being so nervous. It's been really good _ ." He pauses, and then inevitably starts to grow anxious again. " _ But, like... my little brother's in the hospital, Dave. Obviously I care about my mom, but I gotta come see him, don't I? _ "   
  
Davey sighs softly. Jack's definitely got a heart too big for his own good sometimes.    
  
"I'm not gonna decide for you, Jackie," he says firmly. "Spot will still be in the hospital tomorrow for you to come see, and he'll have me and Race tonight so he'll be perfectly fine. But if you really wanted to come right now, I'm sure your mom is free another night to make it up. She would understand." He pauses momentarily, waiting for Jack to say something, but the other boy is probably deep in thought. "Go talk to Medda about it, see what she wants to do. Whatever you decide is fine, okay?"   
  
Jack is quiet, yet again, until he finally takes a deep breath.    
  
" _ Okay _ ," he mumbles. " _ Oh! Um, if you’re about to see him I should probably tell you… when Spot wakes up from seizures, he gets really confused, and it’s sometimes hard for him to talk. Like, he’ll try to talk to you, but he can’t really move his mouth properly and the words don’t come out right. It’s something to do with when he got hurt as a kid— it fucked up his motor skills pretty bad. It can be really scary to see him like that if you’re not expecting it. You’re gonna have to be patient with him. Just so you know. _ "   
  
Davey swallows thickly. This suddenly feels very real. In the time that he’s known Spot, his epilepsy was nothing more than a diagnosis. It was just something he took meds for. It was never something that actually impacted his life. It wasn’t something that really existed. It was always just there in the background.    
  
And now it’s real. It’s a real thing, that Spot has lived through a serious brain injury. Those things are for life— head injuries don’t fuck around. He’s so goddamn lucky to have been living a relatively normal life, and now they’ve been hit with the reality that Spot’s life  _ isn’t _ normal. He’s still suffering the effects of an injury that happened fifteen years ago. He’s not as invincible as he likes to act.    
  
“Yeah, okay,” says Davey, acutely aware of the way his voice seems to shake. He swallows again, not sure what to say, because there’s nothing he can do but take that information and roll with it. He shakes his head and tries to reorient himself. “Let me know what you decide to do, okay? If you end up coming here…” he pauses, not sure if he should say this, “can you bring me some smokes and a lighter? I’m, like,  _ itching _ for one. It’s bad.”   
  
He takes Jack’s heavy sigh as a no. They have a kind of unspoken pact, where they’re both trying to get the other to quit. It’s not working, but they’re still rather adamant in never encouraging each other’s habits.    
  
“I’ll bring you some gum,” says Jack, his vaguely disappointed tone making Davey want to curl into a ball and die. That’s all that’s said on the topic, though, as Jack quickly moves on. “I’m gonna go talk to Medda and figure out what we’re doing. I’m sure you’ll calm down once you’re with Spot. You’re gonna be fine. I love you.”   
  
Davey hadn’t realized he’d been holding onto a breath, but he finally lets it out and lets his breathing fall back to normal.    
  
“I love you too. I’ll see you later, baby.”   
  
And with that, the call is over and the world suddenly continues to turn— free from the way time seems to stop when they say  _ I love you _ . It’s back to reality and time for Davey to go see how bad this really is.    
  
-   
  
As Davey is walking down the hallway, trying to find Spot’s room, his phone starts to ring again.    
  
He doesn’t check who’s calling, simply presses it to his ear and is greeted by a screech of:   
  
“ _ What the fuck!? _ ”   
  
He takes a deep exasperated breath at Race’s (admittedly, somewhat understandable) theatrics.    
  
“Hi Race, how are you? I’m doing fine, thanks for asking,” he quips sarcastically. He’s beginning to get a feel for just how tired and stressed he is, because he’s starting to get crabby. Fuck Jack, he really needs that cigarette. “See how I started the phone call with a greeting? Not screaming?”   
  
He can practically see Race roll his eyes.    
  
“ _ You’re not funny, asshole _ ,” he says dryly, though they both know there’s no real malice behind his words. “ _ What’s going on? Is he okay? Are you still at the hospital? _ ”   
  
Davey isn’t sure he has the mental capacity to explain everything all over again, but he’s sure Race is on his way, so a simple explanation will suffice for now. He’d sent a more detailed text to Race than to Jack, actually telling him about the seizure and the ambulance and everything, in hopes of making him get here quicker.    
  
“We’re still here,” he says, still wandering down the hall, trying to find room 5162. “Everything is okay for now, but they don’t know what’s wrong because he keeps having more seizures— just little ones. They’re keeping him overnight so they can do more tests in the morning. I’m just about to go see him, I’m looking for his room. Are you on your way?”   
  
There’s a telltale beep on the other end of the call that can only be Race tapping his Metro card to get into the subway station.    
  
“ _ Yeah, I’m probably gonna lose the call right away _ ,” he says, as the background noise around him increases astronomically. “ __ Fuck, I’ll call you back once I’m off the train. Gimme like half an hour .”   
  
Before Davey can even say anything else, the call is dropped. That’s Race for you— not a fan of greetings or goodbyes.    
  
There’s no time to dwell on it, though, because just as Davey is tucking his phone away, he realizes he’s found the right room.    
  
He pauses at the door for a moment, taking a deep breath to prepare himself.    
  
It can’t possibly be that bad, right? It’s just Spot. Sure, he’ll be a little out-of-it, but it’s still just him. This is fine. It’s fine. It’s all gonna be okay.    
  


Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spot isn’t dead/dying!!! (at least for now, who knows what that mri might say...) 
> 
> what do you think jack will do? should he go see spot and ditch his mom or stay with his mom and wait until morning to see his brother? for all he knows, morning might be too late!! choices......
> 
> as always, feel free to drop some kudos and a comment— feedback is what inspires me to get chapters out faster!! 
> 
> thank you for reading!! :)


	13. you don’t have to keep it quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone has a bit of a meltdown. things are Not Great. i apologize in advance for any emotional damage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhhh my god i am so happy to be uploading this MONSTER of a chapter!! it’s almost 5k words because i guess i just had too much to say? get yourself a blanket and a cup of tea and get ready to be kinda sad for a bit. this one is A Lot. 
> 
> update on me, if you’re interested: i just finished my first set of college finals, literally like an hour ago. it’s been a hectic week, but hey, now i’m on christmas break, which gives me some time to crank out hopefully a couple chapters! exciting!!
> 
> anyways, in all seriousness, this is a chapter full of heartbreaking angst and important character development, so i hope you all enjoy!!

It turns out Davey had psyched himself out for no reason, because Spot is fast asleep when he walks in. 

He's laying in the hospital bed, his relatively small form being swallowed up by the blankets and pillows around him. There's tubes and wires all over the place— oxygen tubes in his nose, IVs in his arms, and little sensors stuck on his temples and behind his ears, probably to track his seizures. 

He looks awfully young like this. When none of his tough-guy facade is present, he just looks like a _kid_. A weirdly muscular kid, but he's got a childlike face that negates just how built he is. Twenty-one is hardly an adult anyways— he's just a college kid whose biggest issues right now should be his upcoming finals, not whatever the hell is going on with his brain. 

Davey sighs quietly as he sits down in one of the chairs next to Spot's bed. It's not any more comfortable than the one in the waiting room, but he's finally able to relax, because at least now he can see Spot right in front of him and know that he's okay. 

His eyes are getting tired of staring at his phone screen, but he somehow finds himself pulling it out again. He's in an odd state of being overtired and still sort of desperate for a smoke, so he can't say he's thinking particularly rationally— that's the only way he can justify the fact that he's tapping on his dad's name in his contact list and hovering his thumb over the call button. 

It's only been a little over twenty-four hours— though it feels like it's been days— since their stilted, awkward conversation, where they seem to have come to a conclusion that they'd like to be friends. Maybe if Davey reaches out tonight, when he just needs to talk to someone who isn't just as stressed as he is about all this, it'll show that he cares. It'll show he's serious about wanting to fix their relationship. 

Or would that be weird? They haven't had a heart-to-heart in years. The last time they talked about their feelings, Davey threatened to kill himself. This might be _totally_ weird. 

He settles for a text. 

**Davey** : _Hey dad. I know we don't talk much, but I'm having a really bad day and I need someone to talk to. When you called yesterday, it reminded me how much I've missed you. Any chance I could call you? If it's not a good time that's alright._

Davey doesn't even have time to be nervous, because his phone is ringing with a call from his dad within minutes. 

"Hey," he breathes out upon answering, careful to keep his voice quiet. "Thanks for calling."

" _Hi David_." Davey almost smiles at just how eager his dad sounds to be talking to him. There's background noise behind him, like he'd been in the middle of something or out somewhere, but he'd dropped it all to talk to his son. The thought of it makes Davey weirdly happy. " _Is everything alright? I'm glad you reached out_." He pauses. " _I'm happy you feel like you can talk to me. What's going on?_ "

Davey just sighs at first, looking at Spot and feeling a frown tug on his face. 

"It's a long story," he eventually says. "I just need to talk to someone who's not, like, involved in this whole mess. Everyone else that I'd normally call is just as upset as I am."

That's a bit of a lie, because he could've called Sarah and she'd probably be incredibly helpful, but Davey just wants to get on the right track with his dad. If Jack can talk to his mother after nine years of no contact, Davey can most certainly reach out to his slightly-distant-but-still-present father. 

" _I'm all ears. You can get it all off your chest, I'll listen. I can't say I'm the best at advice, but I'll try to help if I can._ "

Davey swallows thickly and nods, though he knows his father can't see him. Might as well start from the beginning, right?

"Well, I _thought_ it was gonna be a normal day when I got up this morning..."

-

They don't talk for very long, maybe ten or fifteen minutes at most. 

It's incredibly therapeutic to just relay the day's events and how he's feeling, but he has to cut the conversation short when Spot starts to stir and his eyes begin to flutter. 

Davey quickly wraps up the phone call and makes a mental note to text his dad a very heartfelt thank you later. He finally feels somewhat calm— though his dad was correct in saying that he'd be no good at advice. Just talking about it was enough, so it's not a big deal. Davey actually feels _much_ better. 

He tucks his phone away just as Spot's eyes open up and begin to dart around the room as he tries to figure out where he is.

Davey reaches out to carefully touch Spot's arm and get his attention. Poor Spot turns to Davey, looking incredibly confused and panicked, so Davey just smiles softly in hopes of calming him down. 

"Hey buddy," he says, gently rubbing Spot's arm. "Relax, okay? You're alright. We're at the hospital, because you've been having some seizures, but it's all gonna be fine. Okay?"

Spot takes a moment to process this, still looking terribly lost, but he eventually nods slowly. 

"I..." he starts, but he trails off. He hesitates with his mouth open for a long second, like he's trying to force a word out, but he ultimately just sighs in frustration. He points to his head and then taps his forehead aggressively. He struggles with his words for a while, but finally manages to say: "H-Hurts."

Davey's heart fucking shatters. Spot looks so upset and frustrated with himself, and of course he's in pain too. This is just _awful_. 

"I know it does," sighs Davey, sympathetically, still rubbing his thumb back and forth on Spot's arm. "Let's call a nurse and try to get you some painkillers. See the little button on the other side of your bed? Give it a push."

Spot looks at the button for a moment, but he doesn't press it. Davey is about to try encouraging him again, until he realizes that Spot has gone ghostly pale and clamped his mouth shut. 

"Shit, uh— are you, like, about to have a seizure?" asks Davey, to which Spot shakes his head. "Are you about to _puke_?" Spot whimpers a little and nods frantically. "Oh fuck."

Davey quickly scans the room for anything they can use to keep this contained, and he settles for picking up the little garbage pail next to the bed and shoving it into Spot's hands. From there, he can do nothing but cringe as Spot chokes and gags while emptying his stomach into the bin. 

Eventually, it's all over and Spot groans in frustration yet again as he leans back into his pillows. Davey takes the garbage pail and sets it on the ground, before reaching over Spot and pressing the call button himself. 

"You're okay," he says, in what he hopes is a soothing tone. Spot appears to be on the verge of tears and Davey is desperate to keep him calm. "It's alright. A nurse is coming to help. It's okay. Just breathe, Spotty. You're fine."

Spot's clearly trying to say _something_ , judging by the way he's focusing incredibly hard on trying to get his mouth to cooperate and move in the right shape, but he ends up just slamming his hands on the bed and grunting angrily. This must be what Jack was talking about— he wants to talk, but his mouth just won't move right to let him do it. 

"Hey... relax, buddy," says Davey, maintaining his efforts to keep Spot from hurdling into a full-on meltdown. "I know it's hard, alright? You've just had, like, six seizures. Of course everything is a little out of whack right now. Your body is just trying to get back to normal, it takes some time. Take as long as you need if you have something to say— I'll listen— but if you just wanna relax and be quiet, that's okay too. Let's calm down. Everything is fine."

It seems to work, because Spot takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. Davey can see him let the tension go from his body and when he opens his eyes again, he's much calmer. 

He opens his mouth to try talking again, so Davey just nods encouragingly, smiling gently at him. 

"Race..." says Spot, after a moment of fighting with himself over the _r_ sound. "He's..." He pauses, clearly struggling with the next sound, but Davey doesn't interrupt him. He just waits patiently until Spot can get it out. It takes a while, but he gets there. "Where? Race is... where?"

Spot frowns in confusion, like he knows those words hadn't come out in the right order, but Davey just gives him a encouraging little pat on the shoulder.

"He'll be here soon. He's just on his way from work." Davey pauses and then laughs softly. "As soon as he leaves me alone with you, all this happens. Do you think I'll be in trouble?"

Spot finally cracks some semblance of a smile as he shakes his head. He doesn't seem to be up to saying much more, but he reaches out and squeezes Davey's hand. 

That says all he needs to say. 

-

Spot is out cold by the time Race arrives. 

Whatever painkillers the nurse ends up giving him must come with a side of drowsiness, because it had takes minutes for Spot to go back to sleep. 

Race walks in half an hour later, carrying a couple of deli sandwiches— to Davey's surprise and absolute delight, because he hasn't eaten since lunchtime and it's now past nine o'clock. Race still has his dance bag slung over his shoulder and he looks like a total mess— he'd clearly rushed straight here from the studio with just a quick stop for food.

As he walks in, Race stops short at the foot of Spot's bed. He just stands there and stares, his face quickly falling from hopeful to completely disheartened at the sight of his husband unconscious, covered in tubes and wires. 

"He was awake for a bit earlier," says Davey, offering a sympathetic smile, though Race doesn't drag his eyes away from Spot. "And, like, he wasn't doing _great_ , but he was talking and smiling a little. He asked about you— he's excited to see you. His painkillers knocked him out a little while ago, though."

Race seems to swallow a lump in his throat as he nods. 

"That's good that he was up," he says, his voice wavering. He's very clearly trying not to show how upset he is. "I figured you probably haven't eaten, so I brought supper. I hope a turkey sandwich is alright."

It's weird to see Race like this. There's an odd quietness to him, like if he says more than a couple of sentences at once, he might break down. He won't quite meet Davey's eyes as he hands him a sandwich and sits in the chair next to him. 

"Tony..." says Davey, resting his hand gently on Race's arm. Once nicknames have been dropped, you know it's serious. Race doesn't look up, but he doesn't push Davey away either. "If you wanna talk... I'm here. You don't have to, like, bottle things up. You can tell me how you're feeling."

Race takes a deep breath and shakes his minutely. 

"I don't even _know_ how I feel right now," he sighs. "I mean... I'm terrified. I'm so scared for him, but I'm also relieved that he's not, y'know, worse. I'm... conflicted."

Davey sighs and nods. He's feeling rather similar at the moment. 

"I get it. I really do." There's a long pause where they both just sort of sit there, not sure what to say next. "He's gonna be fine. I'm sure he is."

Race swallows audibly. A tear slips out of his eye and slowly makes its way down his cheek. 

"You're probably right," he whispers like he's trying to convince himself, his voice wet with emotion. "He's gonna be fine."

-

Just as Jack and Medda are getting ready to head over to the hospital, after having said goodbye to Jack's mother and promised to make plans again soon, Jack's phone buzzes with a text. 

**Davey-baby** : _if you haven't left yet, don't bother coming to the hospital :( spot isn't feeling too good so he's not really up to seeing a bunch of people, and visiting hours are almost done anyways. if you want to be the absolute best almost-husband in the world you could come pick me up? if you'd rather not or even if you want to stay with medda tonight I can just take the train home. up to you. ily <3_

Jack simply sighs and shows Medda the message to let her read it. 

So far, since hearing the news about Spot, she's been significantly calmer than expected. She hasn't been freaking out— probably because she's seen Spot in significantly worse situations and knows that he'll be fine. She'd seen him when she started fostering him, when he was six years old and barely able to walk or talk, stuck in a wheelchair while having dozens of seizures a day. If she'd gotten him through that, she's probably certain he'll pull through this with ease. 

Spot is a trooper, that's for certain. He's been through a lot and always come out on top. 

"You should go pick up your boy, then," sighs Medda. She reaches over to ruffle Jack's hair gently, clearly sensing that Jack is somewhat let-down in not being able to go see his brother tonight. "I'll bring Smalls over there sometime tomorrow morning, so we'll see you then." She pauses, and then carefully pulls Jack into a hug. "You did amazing tonight, baby. I know this is a lot, but you're handling everything _so_ well. Go get a good, long sleep. You deserve it."

Jack holds onto the hug for longer than he feels like he should, but he really needs it tonight. 

"Thanks, Ma," he whispers after a while. "For everything. I'll see you tomorrow."

They let go eventually, but before Jack can head out the door, Medda stops him. 

"This is just the mom in me talking, still trying to make you a gentleman, but... make sure you check in with Davey tonight. He's gonna be worried about you, but he's probably just had one of the scariest nights of his life. Make sure you take a turn looking after him, instead of just letting him take care of you."

Jack nods, forcing a tight smile. There's a bundle of nerves in his stomach— it hurts him to even _think_ of Davey hurting. 

"For sure. We're gonna take it easy tonight," he says. "I'll take good care of him. I'll run him a hot bath or something. We'll be okay. Bye, ma."

-

 **Jack** : _stopped in traffic about ten mins away. should I find parking to come up and say hi or just pick you up at the doors?_

Davey can't help but exhale deeply and rub at his eyes for a moment before looking up from his phone to the scene in front of him.

A nurse is trying to get a blood sample from Spot, Spot is freaking the hell out about it, and Race is getting increasingly frustrated with him. It's chaos. 

**Davey** : _might be best if you just picked me up_

 **Davey** : _spot is in a reaaaaally bad mood and i think he just needs peace and quiet_

"Sean!" snaps Race, grabbing Spot's arm and holding it still. The fact that he's raised his voice seems to scare Spot, because he immediately stops squirming. " _Enough_. I'm serious. You need to relax. Hey— look at me. You're being ridiculous and you need to chill. This nurse is just trying to do her job. Hold still and let her work. Stop making a scene, you're fine."

Spot whimpers a little, but he doesn't fight Race's grip anymore. He looks slightly terrified as the nurse starts to work, but the fact that Race had gotten angry with him seems to outweigh his desire to jerk his arm away from her. 

This isn't normal for them, obviously. Spot and Race don't typically fight, or even yell at each other at all, so it's clear that they're both uncomfortable with the awkward situation they're now finding themselves in. 

Davey isn't sure what to do, so he just shoots off another text to Jack. 

**Davey** : _they're both very grumpy with each other but there's also lowkey some sexual tension and I feel super awkward please save me_

"Okay," says the nurse, after a few moments of tense silence. "You're all done. That wasn't so bad, right? You did great."

She high-fives Spot before taking the sample and walking out, leaving behind a whole load of tension between Spot and Race, and a whole lot of awkwardness for Davey. 

As soon as the nurse is gone, Spot huffs and jerks his arm away from Race, holding it to his chest. 

"Fuck," sighs Race, his annoyed expression finally dissolving into guilt. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to yell. I'm so tired— I'm getting grumpy but I shouldn't take that out on you."

Spot is still struggling a lot with his words, and now he seems to be holding back tears as well, so he stutters for a long moment but finally manages:

" _Asshole_."

Race almost laughs, but contains it because Spot is genuinely upset and meant that seriously. As blunt as it was, it's nothing to laugh at. 

"That's fair," says Race, his voice going _impossibly_ soft. He reaches out to brush a falling tear from Spot's cheek with his thumb. "You're right. I shouldn't have gotten mad— I know you were just scared. I didn't mean to yell, I was getting frustrated and it just kind of happened. I'm really, really sorry, sweetheart."

There's a long moment where Spot just stares at Race, processing his words. They've noticed tonight that Spot takes a good few seconds to understand things and even longer to formulate a response. Slowly, he nods as he sniffles and blinks back tears. He takes Race's outstretched hand in his own and squeezes it gently. 

"Okay?" continues Race, softly, trying to make up for Spot's inability to answer. "We're okay now? I'm really sorry, Spotty. I didn't mean to upset you." Spot nods once again and Race finally smiles. "Can I have a kiss?"

Jesus, they're fucking cute.

Davey almost rolls his eyes when they kiss, because who gave them the right to be that soft? He's thankfully distracted by his phone buzzing again. 

**Jack** : _outside the main doors! :)_

Grateful to finally be able to get out of this crowded room where he's clearly impeding on whatever is going on between Spot and Race, Davey stands up and tucks his phone away. 

"Jack's here to get me," he says, already backing towards the door. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

The two of them are totally distracted with each other, so Davey just slips out and shakes his head fondly. Absolutely ridiculous, those two. 

-

The car ride is terribly quiet and Jack hates it. 

He's made a couple of attempts at conversation, but Davey seems preoccupied with whatever's going on in his head. He's jittery and unfocused, staring out the window and bouncing his knees up and down incessantly. 

Eventually, Jack sighs. 

"There's a pack in the glove box if you want one," he says, knowing it's not exactly fair to try and deter Davey from smoking, when he's got an urge to light one up as well. Davey's eyes finally snap to Jack as he tries to figure out what he's talking about. "Just hold it out the window, I don't like the smell getting in here too much."

Davey is silent as he searches for the pack and the lighter, rolls down the window, and lights up a cigarette. 

"Thank you," he whispers after taking his first drag. He sighs heavily and leans his head back against the headrest. "It's been a long fuckin' day."

Jack drums his hands on the steering wheel, not really sure what to say. 

"Yeah..." he finally agrees. "It definitely has."

The silence lingers once again. It's heavy and tense, so Jack switches on the radio to break it. Some country song starts to play quietly in the background and Jack finds himself nodding along and mouthing the lyrics. 

After a while, he notices that Davey's anxious leg jerking has softened into simply bouncing gently to the beat. He's leaning back more in his seat, and his right hand is dangling lazily out the window, the cigarette pinched between two fingers. 

He's finally relaxed, which is allowing Jack to relax. 

This is fine. They're gonna be fine. 

-

They arrive home to a somewhat messy apartment, with a stack of dishes from this morning's pancakes still piled by the sink. Their broken dishwasher means they have to wash everything by hand, and they both have a bad habit of procrastinating it. 

"Fuck," sighs Davey as he kicks off his shoes and heads for the kitchen. "I was gonna do those. I should probably—"

"No," says Jack, cutting him off and catching him by the arm. "It's late. We'll worry about them tomorrow. Come sit with me and talk for a bit."

Davey seems reluctant, but he obeys and leaves the dishes behind. In typical, worrisome Davey fashion, the first words out of his mouth as they sit down on the couch are:

“How’re you holding up, baby? It’s been a crazy day, huh?”

Jack takes a deep breath and shrugs in what he hopes is a casual way. 

“I’m actually alright,” he says, willing his voice not to shake. He’s not lying— he _is_ alright, but he’s worried about Davey and that’s enough to get him anxious. More specifically, he’s anxious about the fact that Davey doesn’t look to be anxious at all. If that makes sense. “I… I mean, I was scared to see my mom, but it ended up going really well. I had a really nice time with her. And, like… I’m nervous about Spot, but I’m handling it. I’m alright.” He pauses, and then carefully takes Davey’s hands in his own. “I’m worried about you, mostly.”

Davey’s eyes go wide and he looks genuinely surprised. 

“Worried about _me_? What? Why?”

Jack nearly rolls his eyes. 

“Because you do _this_! You act like nothing’s wrong and you’re totally fine, when I know damn well that you aren’t.” Davey opens his mouth like he’s about to try and defend himself, but Jack continues. “You haven’t smoked in _months_ and now all of a sudden you’re dying for one? I can tell when something’s wrong, Dave. I know you better than you think I do.” He pauses for a moment, and his voice is oddly soft and quiet when he speaks again. “You can tell me when you’re upset, y’know. You don’t have to pretend for me.”

Davey is quiet for a long second, staring at their connected hands. Jack seems to have gotten through to him, because he’s clearly thinking very hard. He takes a deep breath and swallows thickly. 

“It was scary, everything that happened today,” he finally whispers, his voice wet like he’s holding back tears. It’s not often he lets himself be vulnerable like this and it’s breaking Jack’s heart. “I keep telling myself that if I just don’t think about it, it won’t bother me, but… every time I close my eyes I can see him on the ground, just fucking _shaking_.” He pauses, squeezing Jack’s hands, as if to ground himself. “It was _so_ scary, Jack. But, like, Race was so upset, and I knew you’d probably be upset too, so I was trying to act like it didn’t get to me. But, _fuck_ …”

He trails off into tears. He rarely cries, so Jack is slightly out of his depth in terms of what to do, but he remembers what Medda told him. _Make sure you take a turn looking after him, instead of just letting him take care of you_. Everything Davey normally does for Jack when he’s having panic attacks or getting otherwise upset, Jack can do for him now. 

He starts by carefully pulling Davey into a hug. 

“Shh, I know,” he whispers. “It’s _terrifying_ , but you were so good, Dave. You did everything right. You called the ambulance, you got him to the hospital, and it’s all taken care of. You were amazing.”

Davey falls into the hug and hides his face in Jack’s neck. Jack can do nothing but rub his back and whisper to him, just trying to let him know he’s okay. 

“You’re alright,” Jack continues. “Just let it out, sweetheart. I’m right here for you, okay? You’re always here when I’m sad, so now it’s my turn to take care of you. I’ve got you. It’s all okay.”

Jack hums softly as he rubs his hands up and down Davey’s spine. All this is nearly making him want to start crying too, but he’s gonna hold it together because Davey needs him right now. 

“He couldn’t _talk_ ,” chokes Davey through his tears, after a moment. His voice is muffled, since his face is still pressed into Jack’s neck. “I know you warned me, but I didn’t know it’d be that _bad_. He was hurting so much, and he was so scared, but he couldn’t tell me. I didn’t know what to do.”

Jack sighs softly and lets his fingers curl in the hair at the nape of Davey’s neck. 

“I know,” he whispers. “It’s hard. The talking thing… it’s something he lives with. Every time the seizures get bad, the speech apraxia— that’s what it’s called, when his brain and his mouth lose that connection— comes back. He knows that, and he’ll never get mad if you can’t understand him, because he’s been dealing with this for almost his whole life. I’m sure you handled it perfectly. I know you did your best and you probably helped him out just fine, okay?” He kisses Davey’s temple softly. “I’m sure you were amazing.”

Davey just shudders as he sobs. Jack is beginning to think that this meltdown is due to a culmination of a lot more than just tonight’s events. They’ve been stressed about wedding planning, Davey’s been crazy busy at work, and it seems like everything has been building up in order to topple him over the edge. Jack just wishes he could make it all go away. 

“You’re okay,” he mumbles again, squeezing the hug a little tighter. “Everything’s gonna be alright, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine. We’re okay.”

Jack, in all honestly, isn’t sure how much he believes the words coming out of his own mouth, but he’ll be damned if he won’t pretend it for Davey’s sake. 

Everything’s gonna be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that was.... something. i’m sorry. 
> 
> side note: is anyone else feeling SUPER proud of davey right now?? for the whole first book in this series, we watched him bottle up his emotions until he exploded and got angry. here?? he’s finally communicating and letting himself be vulnerable— a side that he rarely shows to jack. you know what that is? Growth. 
> 
> please leave any thoughts, comments, concerns, etc. about this chap in the comments!! it could even just be to yell at me for hurting your heart, i promise i’ll still appreciate the feedback. 
> 
> thank you for reading!!


	14. how lucky we are to be alive right now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sort of a filler chapter? things get momentarily better and then they get Bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when i used to write super long, informative author’s notes?? 
> 
> idk who that girl was, please just enjoy this chapter i’m tired and i start school again tomorrow pls pray for my sanity :’( #pressFtopayrespects
> 
> warning for a graphic depiction of a seizure, slightly more detailed than the first time. 
> 
> also yeah this chapter is 100% unedited so i apologize for the many mistakes that probably exist that i haven’t noticed

Davey wakes up unreasonably early, considering how late he'd been up the night before.    
  
It had been hard for him to fall asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was how much fucking  _ pain _ Spot had been in, and just how helpless he himself had been. He spent hours just laying there, his head against Jack' bare chest to feel the rise and fall of his sleeping breath, just trying to ground himself and calm down. He'd cried on and off— every time he thought too hard about everything that had happened, the tears seemed to start all over again.    
  
Jack had woken up briefly in the middle of the night, as he tends to do, and noticed Davey wide awake.    
  
"You alright?" he'd whispered, his fingers moving instinctively to card through Davey's hair. "Have you even slept?"   
  
All Davey could muster was:   
  
"He hit his head." When Jack, not quite understanding the mumble, had made a confused little noise, Davey continued. "When he fell, he hit his head really hard, and I'm scared. I don't... what if that's why he had so many more seizures? What if he's  _ really _ hurt?"   
  
"Oh baby," Jack had sighed, clearly too tired to deal with this, but willing to try because he's too kind for his own good. "The nurses would've told you if he had a concussion. I'm sure they checked. And he's having that MRI tomorrow, right? They'll find out for sure what's happening and they'll take care of it. Worrying's not gonna help anything."   
  
Davey had simply whimpered a little and hugged Jack a bit tighter.   
  
"Try and get some sleep, sweetheart," Jack had whispered. "I love you so much."   
  
And then Jack had been out like a light. At least his insomnia's starting to improve, that's got to be a good thing. It had taken Davey ages to relax, but holding onto Jack and feeling his presence had been enough to finally calm him down and let him rest.    
  
All that being said, why he pushes himself out of bed at seven o'clock in the morning is beyond his own comprehension, but he does it anyways. He's still on-edge, and laying in the dark surely won't be able to help that.    
  
He's not sure if it's odd that housework calms him down, but he finds himself tidying the living room and eventually starting on the pile of dishes by the sink, while simultaneously cursing their broken dishwasher that they can't afford to fix.    
  
Jack walks into the kitchen while Davey is putting away the last few dishes.    
  
"No way," he says, walking up behind Davey and hugging him, trapping his arms at his sides. "Why are you up? Go back to bed. I'll call your boss and say you're not coming in. I'm working from home for the next few days, at least until Spot's out of the hospital. Let's go sleep some more. I can tell you're tired."   
  
Right... work is a thing that exists. Davey has a job that he needs to go to. He's supposed to go in for his usual ten-to-six today in the emergency room of the animal hospital.    
  
Fuck it. He can't handle that right now. It's just not happening.    
  
"Okay," he replies, finally relaxing into Jack's touch. His voice sounds somewhat empty, reflecting just how spaced out he is. "I don't wanna sleep anymore, but I'll call in. It should be okay, I have lots of sick days left."   
  
Jack hums as he leans his head over Davey's shoulder and sways side-to-side, still hugging him tight.    
  
"Can we at least get back in bed?" he asks. "Or, y'know what? Let's have a bath. We have those bath bombs Sarah and Kath gave us, we could try one and see how it smells. Does that sound nice?"   
  
Davey nods slowly, still a bit zoned out.    
  
"Yeah," he says after a moment. "That sounds really nice. I'd like that."   
  
-   
  
Davey's not sure why they've never taken a bath together before, because he really  _ really _ likes it. This is definitely going to become a regular thing.    
  
The heat of the water, the softness of their skin pressed together, the lovely lavender smell of the bath bomb— it's all very nice and intimate and calming. It's exactly what Davey needs right now.     
  
"I've been thinking about our wedding," says Jack, once they've both settled down in the tub. He's got his back against Davey's chest and their fingers are intertwined on his lap. "I have an idea, but if you hate it you can say so and I'll drop it. It's just a random thought."   
  
Davey laughs softly, squeezing Jack's hand.    
  
"I'm sure it's a great idea," he says, happy for the change of topic from what's been on his mind all night and morning. "What are you thinking?"   
  
Jack hesitates for a moment, but then he shakes his head and just goes ahead with it.    
  
"So we both hate all this crazy planning, right?" He waits for Davey to nod before he continues. "And we just want to get married already, without having to spend a ton of money on all the fancy stuff?" Davey nods again. "So I was thinking... what if we got it over with, like, next month? We could have a little ceremony in— I don't know, maybe Medda's backyard? We only invite our close friends and our families, and we have a little tiny party that's just about us. I... I don't know. I got bored for a bit last night while Medda and my mom talked, so I got to picturing it, and I think it would suit us better than something fancy like Sarah and Kath's. What do you think?"   
  
Davey takes a moment to think it over, and he nods slowly.    
  
"I like that a lot," he says, before leaning forward a little to gently kiss Jack's neck. "That's a really nice idea, Jackie. I don't think a big wedding would really... like,  _ reflect _ us, right? And you're right... I just want to get married as soon as we can. I don't care about making it fancy. I want you to be my husband as soon as possible."   
  
Jack hums happily and leans back into Davey a bit more.    
  
"I love you so much," he whispers, turning around to connect their mouths. " _ So _ fucking much. I'm gonna be Jack Jacobs. I'm so fuckin' happy."   
  
_ Jack Jacobs _ . Holy shit. They haven't discussed this yet, but Jack seems so happy about it that Davey has absolutely no objections to that idea. It's not like Jack has any good memories associated with his own last name— it had come from his father, the person he hates the most in the world. It's natural that he'd want to get rid of it.    
  
"Mr. and Mr. Jacobs," sighs Davey, breathing it out between kisses. "How did we get so lucky?"   
  
Jack simply smiles and hums in agreement, without breaking the kiss, his hands gently cradling the back of Davey's neck.    
  
"Let me treat you right," he whispers, after a while longer of making out. His kisses move lower and lower down Davey's jaw and neck, and he stops at the bottom to suck a hickey onto his collarbone. When he speaks again, his voice is low and smooth and music to Davey's ears. "I wanna help you relax, you're so stressed, baby."   
  
Davey swears he forgets how to breathe for a moment, but it comes back to him with a gasp when Jack's hands start to roam.    
  
"You're the best," he sighs, his fingers curling into Jack's hair. He briefly considers the prospect of trying to have sex in this tiny bathtub and the mess of water that would inevitably make, so he gently pulls away from Jack. "Maybe we should go back to bed for this, though, darling."   
  
-   
  
They arrive to the hospital in the mid-morning, feeling  _ incredibly _ refreshed. Davey's carrying an iced coffee for Race and Jack's holding a teddy bear that he'd seen in the gift shop and couldn't resist getting for Spot. Their free hands are intertwined as they walk because they just can't get enough of each other today.    
  
They arrive to Spot's room, but stop outside the door when they realize that Spot and Race are mid-conversation and they're both too awkward to interrupt it.    
  
"I'm sorry,  _ what _ ?" Race sounds completely baffled and Jack and Davey share an amused look. "You have an MRI in an hour! We're not sneaking you out of the hospital to go get  _ burgers _ . You're a madman, Spot."   
  
Spot's speech seems to have improved from where it was last night, because though his words are still slurred and stuttered, he's actually somewhat comprehensible when he responds.    
  
"Well,  _ you _ can go..." he trails off into a laugh, so Race finishes the thought for him.    
  
"And bring you back a burger? Yeah, not happening, buddy. Maybe we can do a stealth mission later tonight. We'll sneak you outta here and go get some good food instead of this hospital crap—"   
  
Jack conveniently chooses this moment to walk in.    
  
"Bad idea," he states, forgoing even saying hello. "Terrible idea, and you guys are idiots."   
  
"Postmates exists," chimes in Davey as he enters the room and hands Race the coffee. "You can order burgers, no stealth mission required."   
  
A look around the room tells him that they've just missed seeing Medda and Smalls— there's a vase of flowers on a side table, likely from Medda, and a crayon drawing of many different coloured hearts stuck to the wall, almost definitely courtesy of Smalls and her nine year-old artistic vision.    
  
Race groans loudly and sprawls out in his chair, Spot copying him almost instantly.    
  
"Where's the fun in  _ that _ ?" whines Race. "It's been too long since we've done anything chaotic and I'm going crazy."   
  
Jack narrows his eyes at that, while setting the teddy bear on Spot's lap and taking a seat in a chair. Davey takes the one next to him.    
  
"Didn't you tell me you two got banned from a Bath and Body Works last week?"   
  
Race stifles a laugh at the memory and Spot just grins, though he seems somewhat distracted and rather thrilled by the bear in his lap.    
  
"Apparently they don't like it if you light a candle in the store to get a feel for the smell," explains Race. "It's okay, I wasn't vibing with warm vanilla sugar anyways."   
  
Davey rolls his eyes so hard he thinks his head might explode. Every day, these idiots continue to surprise him by hitting new depths of stupidity.    
  
He looks to Spot, to try and make sure he gets a chance to be included in the conversation despite his difficulty speaking, but feels his heart sink with worry when he realizes that his excited smile has been replaced by a terrifyingly blank expression, and he's dropped the bear on the floor.    
  
"Um, Spot?" he says, feeling his face fall into a frown. "You alright, buddy?"   
  
Jack and Race both finally look at Spot, and Jack immediately pales.    
  
"Fuck," he whispers, quickly reaching out to hold Spot's shoulder. "No, no, no,  _ please _ ." He snaps his fingers a few times in front of Spot's face. "Sean, I need you to stay with me. Try and come back please. Listen to my voice and come back to where I am. Don't drift off. Stay with me, buddy."   
  
Nothing. Spot continues to stare blankly ahead for a few more seconds, before his eyes suddenly roll back in his head and his whole body tenses up. He'd been sitting up straight in bed, but he now falls back against his pillows with his arms contorted into awkward positions and his mouth wide open, his muscles seeming to vibrate from the tension.    
  
Davey swallows thickly and looks away, unable to watch, and he notices Race do the same, while playing anxiously with the wedding ring on his finger. Jack, the absolute angel, stays right where he is, petting Spot's hair and mumbling to him.    
  
"You're okay. You're gonna be fine, just keep pushing through. It'll be over soon, I promise. You're doing so good, Spot."   
  
Eventually, Spot's head jerks, and then the shaking starts. He lets out a loud yell, probably totally involuntary, as his arms and legs begin to twitch and tremble. This lasts a couple minutes at least, for all of which Jack stays right there, his hand resting ever-so gently on his brother's shoulder.    
  
"Hang in there, Spotty," he sighs. "I'm right here. You're gonna be fine. You're so close, it's almost done. You're okay."   
  
Finally, Spot stills. As the jerking slows to a stop, Jack carefully pushes him to lie on his side— which Davey now knows is to keep him from choking on his own spit, or vomit if he were to throw up. He's passed out, his is breathing is laboured and choked, and there's tear tracks running down his cheeks and spit dripping out of his mouth, but at least it's finally over.    
  
Jack immediately leans forward in his chair, drops his head in his hands, looking utterly defeated.    
  
Wordlessly, Davey leans over to pick up the teddy bear from the ground and settle it back into Spot's bed, tucking it gently under his limp arm.    
  
It's quiet for a very long moment.    
  


"I'm scared, guys," Race finally says, before sliding his chair a little closer to Spot's bed and wiping the tears from his husband's cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I don't know what's going on and I'm  _ really _ fucking scared."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY BOYS!!! i’m so very sorry for hurting them, and also sorry that not much happened in this chapter. if i would’ve tried to get to the next Important Plot Point it would’ve doubled in length and i don’t have the mental capacity for that rn. 
> 
> anyways, comments make my day so i’d love to read some!!  
> also, if you don’t follow my tumblr, i’ve been posting most of my mini fics from there on here as well in a big collection, so feel free to check that out!!!


	15. life is short, make it sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys are back...... feat. a lot of softness, a flashback, and some fluffy sprace as an apology for abandoning this fic for almost 4 months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so listen. i can explain. this semester was super heavy, and writing this fic takes, like, a lot of brain power? it's sort of draining to work on bc i wanna make everything just the way i planned it, so i really just haven't had the energy to work on it in a while. however, my first year of college is almost done (only one final left!) so i'm back in business to write for fun instead of just for academics!
> 
> also, a note about this story in general: i'm aware that the pacing is... odd. like i think because i've been taking such long breaks between chapters, its been hard to advance the plot in a steady rhythm? idk,, i'm probably the only one noticing this, but just in case anyone is confused by the plot seeming a little stagnant, i promise things will get moving eventually. this chapter mostly focuses on character development, rather than narrative, just like the last one. the next chapter will hopefully move the plot along a little more.
> 
> ok sorry for rambling!! please enjoy 3.4k words about our favourite goofballs

_9 years ago - Manhattan, New York_.

"Jack, can you help me with this? I don't really get it."

Jack looks up from his own homework to see Spot wrapped up in a blanket, frowning at a math problem, and scratching at his temple with the end of his pencil. They're studying together on the floor of their shared bedroom— Medda told them that if they get their work done before dinner, they'll go out for ice cream tonight. She's out for groceries right now, so Jack is in charge of making sure they don't somehow destroy the place.

"Sure," replies Jack, leaning over to look at Spot's textbook. "Lemme see. Which one are you stuck on?"

Jack will admit that he isn't great at math, but Spot's only in the seventh grade, so this should be a piece of cake. Jack had actually done pretty well in middle school math— it's the factoring and square rooting that he's doing now in high school that throws him off.

"This one," sighs Spot, pointing to a word problem on the page. "It's just too..."

He trails off, and Jack pays him no mind as he reads through the question. Just as he'd expected, it's not very difficult at all.

"Well, y'see, all you have to do is times it by four and—" He cuts himself off when he realizes that Spot is still pointing at the question with his mouth open, frozen mid-sentence. "Spot? Are you okay? What are you doing?"

Spot doesn't respond. He's completely zoned out. When Jack looks down, he notices Spot's hands beginning to twitch.

"Stop being weird," says Jack, waving a hand in front of Spot's face. "You  _asked_  me to help you, what's your problem?"

Jack has half a mind to smack Spot on the side of the head to get him to stop being ridiculous, but the urge instantly goes away when Spot starts to whine.

"Jack, I don't— I don't feel good." He's as still as a statue, apart from his fingers twitching, and his eyes are now focused on the wall ahead of him. His words are tumbling out of his mouth, slurred and barely comprehensible. "Jack, I can't move right. I don't feel good.  _Help._ I can't—"

It suddenly dawns on Jack exactly what's happening.  _Holy shit, he's having a seizure_.

Jack doesn't know what to do. Medda isn't home and he's definitely not authorized to be handling this.

"It's okay," he blurts, reflexively imitating what he's heard Medda say before. "You're having a seizure but you're gonna be alright. Just breathe, you're fine. It'll pass."

At least Spot is awake— these ones are slightly less scary than the ones where he passes out and shakes on the ground. Jack hasn't seen him seize very many times, since he's only been living here for a couple of months, but he's always been careful to watch what Medda does, in case this situation were to ever arise.

"I want it to be  _over_ ," moans Spot, his words slurring together and his hands continuing to shake. His head starts to twitch to the side intermittently, making him cry out in surprise. "I don't like it, Jack!  _Please_ , I don't... I don't wanna do this. I  _hate_  it. Jack,  _help—_ "

He cuts himself off with a loud whine as he seems to lose control of his limbs and he slumps over onto Jack. This is exactly what Jack had been afraid of: the small seizure progressing into a worse fit, one of the ones where he blacks out.

"Fuck... Spot,  _no_ ," whispers Jack, not sure if he should hold his brother and try to stop him from shaking, or just lay him down, let the seizure pass, and comfort him after. "You can't pass out, I don't know what to do! How do I help you!?"

He, of course, receives no response. Spot just starts to shake and twitch even more than before— the tremors from his hands seeming to take over him completely. Jack quickly lays him down on the ground, since it's probably not safe to keep holding him.

What if he dies? Jack would be responsible, because he's in charge of looking after him while Medda's out. He'll probably get thrown right back out into the foster system, since Medda will want nothing to do with him after this. He's ruined  _everything—_ Spot is shaking on the floor, and Jack is just sitting here doing  _nothing_ , because he doesn't knowwhat to do!

It's all ruined and it's all Jack's fault and...

-

The memory ends as abruptly as it had started.

Jack is suddenly back in reality: sitting in a hard plastic chair, his hand still resting on Spot's shoulder as the last little twitches— Medda calls them "aftershocks"— of his seizure work themselves out of his system. They're in the hospital, not their old bedroom, and they're all grown up now.

Everything is under control. Everything is fine. Spot is okay and it's all going to work out.

And yet... Jack can feel a familiar sense of dread settling in his stomach. He's scared. He's  _so_ fucking scared that this is gonna be the time that everything falls apart. The memory he's just been confronted with— that was when they'd learned that Spot's medication wasn't working anymore. Medda had come home while he was still seizing and they'd taken him straight to the hospital, where he stayed for weeks, seizing so many times a day that his doctors had to sedate him just so he could get some rest. His apraxia had worsened to the point that he had the speech abilities of a toddler, hardly able to string words together. He threw up practically everything he ate, so he'd become scarily thin and incredibly weak. It was  _horrible_.

Jack is just really fucking terrified that all that could happen again.

"Jackie," says Davey, his voice impossibly soft, interrupting Jack's terrible thoughts. "Are you alright? You look scared, love. You did an amazing job just now. You handled it so well. Is everything okay?"

Jack just swallows thickly. He knows he needs to calm down, because freaking out would just scare Race and Davey, but his stomach is twisted in anxious knots and he can't seem to think straight.

"I'm just nervous," he finally says, and he looks up to where Race seems caught up in his own thoughts, biting at his fingernails and trying to hide the sheen of tears welling up in his eyes. "I... yeah. Just nervous. It's fine. I'm fine."

With that, it's quiet again. Davey nods as he takes Jack's free hand in his own, and then they just sit. There's not much else left to say.

-

Spot wakes up about twenty minutes later, but he's not all there.

He's tired and groggy, as he typically is after a grand mal seizure like this one. His head is lolling back and forth against his pillows, and his eyes aren't quite all the way open. He's pale and looks rather sickly— worse than Jack has him in ages.

"Hey doll," whispers Race, leaning over the railing on the edge of the bed and touching Spot's face gently to get his attention. "That was a nasty one, huh? You feeling alright?"

Spot doesn't respond, just reaches up to pull on the oxygen tubes on his face, scrunching his eyebrows in annoyance.

"Let's not do that," says Race with a soft laugh, carefully catching Spot's hand in his own. "How about we leave those alone, okay? Hey... look here, Spotty. Look at me. Are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt? Gimme a thumbs up or thumbs down."

Spot hesitates for a moment, thinking it over, before presenting a shaky thumbs-up. This causes Race to break into a grin, grab Spot's face, and kiss him on the forehead.

Jack's big brother instinct is telling him to step in and make sure Spot is  _actually_  feeling okay, as there's a good chance he's lying to make Race happy, but Jack just doesn't have the heart to ruin this moment. There'll be nurses in soon to check on Spot anyways, so Jack can let it slide for now.

"Hey Spotty, guess what," continues Race. Jack has to admire the brave face he's putting on— there's no hint that he was even upset at all. "Pretty soon, a nurse is gonna come take you down for your scan— you'll get to go on an adventure around the hospital! I bet that'll be super fun."

Race is doing this  _thing_  that he always does when things go wrong. He's somehow always able to find a way to flip bad situations into something positive. Jack will never understand how he's always able to see the good in things, but he definitely appreciates it immensely.

Additionally, he's totally nailed the very fine line of how to talk to Spot post-seizure, wording things in a way he'll understand, without veering into treating him like a child. Spot seems to be considering Race's words— intrigued but somewhat wary of the plan. He's starting to look a little more coherent and present, less like he's still half-asleep.

"You t-too?" he asks, after a moment, while reaching to take his husband's hand in his own. He frowns at his own incomplete sentence and takes a deep breath, squeezing his teddy bear to his chest, before trying it again. "You..." He pauses, looking for the words, and Race just smiles patiently, rubbing the back of Spot's hand. "You can come? Wi...With me?"

Race's smile falters a little, but he simply takes his free hand and brushes his thumb along Spot's jaw.

"No, I can't come. It's just for you, alright?" The frown that falls onto Spot's face is heartbreaking, so Race quickly tries to turn things around. "But you know what I'm gonna do? I think me, Jack and Davey will go over to Crutchie's and get a big box of donuts for you and the nurses, so you can have one when you come back from the scan. How's that sound? I know you've been craving something sweet, right?"

This strategy seems to work, because Spot's frown starts to lift into a little smile. He squeezes both hands around Race's one and tugs on his arm.

"The—" he starts, but his mouth doesn't seem to cooperate so he stutters a bit and trails off. He huffs in frustration and tries again. "Race, the one I..."

"I know which one's your favourite," says Race, grinning. "Is that what you wanted to tell me?" He lights up as Spot smiles and nods. "I'll see if they have it, okay? I'll try and bring one back special for you. But wait— you have to promise you're not gonna be a little ass to the nurses. If we come back and the nurse says you were making it hard for her,  _I_ might have to eat your donut. Make sense? You have to listen to her, you can't be a goofball."

Spot laughs as he pulls on Race's arm again. He's practically  _beaming_ , which definitely isn't typical when he's this sick. The weirdly good mood is an incredible relief to Jack, who's just enjoying watching all this go down.

"I'm  _not_ ," whines Spot, his smiling overtaking is whole face now. "Race, I'm not!"

Race thinks it over in a dramatic, sarcastic way, while Spot giggles— he fucking  _giggles_! Jack has never seen him this alert and happy after a seizure before and it's astounding.

"You're not a goofball? If you're  _sure_ ," replies Race, tapping Spot's nose, just to make him laugh more. "I guess I'll believe you. You better prove it, though. No messing around with the nurses. I'm gonna ask them."

As Spot nods enthusiastically and Race continues to entertain him, Jack feels Davey lean over into his side and a wave of calm comes over him.

Maybe this will all actually be fine.

-

About an hour later, they find themselves sitting in Crutchie's café, each with a coffee and a sandwich on the table in front of them. Well, Jack and Race are there— Davey had to take a call from a coworker about some situation at work that he's apparently the only one capable of dealing with, so he's stepped out onto the sidewalk with his phone pressed to his ear and an annoyed expression on his face.

Crutchie has taken his break to join them for lunch, leaving Jojo working in the back and a new hire— his name tag says  _Ben_ , but Crutchie had called him Buttons— working the till and the coffee station. It's not particularly busy, though, so Buttons seems to be experimenting with latte art behind the counter.

"The raspberry-white chocolate donut," says Race, mid-mouthful of food, pointing an accusatory finger at Crutchie. "I've got a husband in the hospital who's  _obsessed_  with it, and you goons don't sell it anymore? I'm disappointed in you, Charles. Heartbroken."

Crutchie sighs and then sips on his coffee to avoid having to answer.

"It wasn't selling well, okay? I think Spot is pretty much the main market for it." He pauses for a second to think, and then adds on. "If you have a few extra minutes to wait around, I think we've got enough white chocolate in the kitchen that I could do up a quick batch of frosting, and we still use the raspberry filling in other stuff. I've got a bunch of donuts I need to decorate, so I could make him a half-dozen as a get-well-soon gift— a special five-foot-three gang offer."

Rather than make another snarky comment or sarcastic joke, Race simply looks  _incredibly_ relieved. It's a sudden change— his face seems to fall from a teasing smile to a rather serious expression.

"Thank you so much, man. He's really gonna like that," he sighs, trailing off into silence before rubbing at his eyes with a frown. "Shit, why am I almost  _crying_? Jesus, this day has been too much. I'm so goddamn tired, I need to sleep." He groans and leans back in his chair. "Sorry. Thanks, Crutchie. That's really fuckin' nice of you."

Jack has been rather preoccupied with his sandwich until now, but he leans over and throws an arm around Race's shoulders.

"You should go home early tonight," he says, almost grimacing at the way Race is so exhausted that he leans all his weight over into Jack's side. "Me and Davey will stay with him 'til the end of visiting hours. I won't let nothin' happen to him, and I'll call you if anything changes. But you've been running yourself into the ground taking care of him at home these past few days, huh? And I bet you didn't sleep last night. You need to get some rest."

Race simply nods. He looks almost like a little kid, leaning into Jack with his eyes nearly falling shut. Jack just hugs him a little tighter and sighs.

"You're too good, Racer. You know that, right? You take such good care of him, and all of us are  _so_  lucky to have you." He's not sure why he's getting all soft right now, but he figures maybe Race needs to hear it. "Keep your head up, alright bud? You're doing a really good job."

-

They get back to the hospital shortly after Spot has been returned to his room from the MRI.

The doctors had put him under for the scan, to make sure he didn't seize while surrounded by all the fancy equipment, and he's not quite awake yet so it's pleasantly quiet in the room. A perk of the neurology ward at this hospital is the private rooms— they seem to figure that since most patients in this area have all kinds of seizures and tics, and some are particularly sensitive to noise and light, it's best to give everyone their own space.

This means that plenty of friends can squish around Spot's bed without disturbing any other patients, which is a rather nice idea. Albert and Elmer should be back in town tonight from whatever hiking or camping or biking adventure they've been on, so maybe they can stop by if Spot's feeling up to it. It would be nice to have everyone around, it might make this whole situation a little more bearable.

They've been sitting around for nearly an hour now, after handing out donuts to the nurses and wandering the halls to kill some time, and Race has finally managed to fall asleep, despite all the coffee he's been drinking. He's lowered the railing of Spot's bed so that he can lean on his husband's chest, and the sight of them both sleeping is adorably sad. Jack sends a picture of it to Medda, and she replies with a string of crying faces and hearts, before confirming that she'll be back around dinner time with some food for the boys.

"They're precious," sighs Davey. He's got his head on Jack's shoulder and he seems rather tired himself, since he'd barely slept last night. In a whisper, he adds: "I don't think Spot's even asleep anymore, he's just laying there so Race doesn't wake up."

Upon a closer look, Davey is right. Spot's eyes aren't fully shut, and his hand that Race isn't on top of is fidgeting with the sheets, pulling gently on a stray thread. He must've heard Davey, because he opens his eyes a little wider and smiles at the two of them.

"Doing alright?" asks Jack, keeping his voice low and gentle. "You look a lot better than before."

Spot just nods, still smiling, and in any other context he might look just like his normal self. He's much more rested now, and some colour is finally returning to his complexion. He looks more alert and awake than he has all day.

His gaze shifts from Jack to Race, and he slowly lifts his free hand and places it in Race's hair, to gently scratch his fingernails over his scalp. Race shifts a bit in his sleep and makes a content little noise, and Spot's resulting expression can't be described as anything other than thoroughly in love.

Jack takes a mental picture of the scene this time, since pulling out his phone might be a bit rude. He makes sure to commit to memory the way his little brothers hold onto each other, and the way Spot looks at Race like he's the centre of his universe, simply because he's just not sure how long this moment will last.

Sure enough, after ten minutes or so, the serenity in the room is interrupted by the door creaking open.

"Hi Sean," says a nurse, who notices Race, sleeping and drops her voice to just above a whisper. She doesn't move in past leaning in the doorway, seeming to feel somewhat guilty that she'd disturbed the quiet. "Your neurologist is wondering if now would be an okay time to come in and talk to you. He said he's just had a look at the images from your scan, and he'd like to come have a chat about them. Would it be okay if he came up here now?"

Spot looks down to his sleeping husband again, but eventually just sighs and nods, offering a tight smile to the nurse.

As the nurse leaves and Spot goes back to playing with Race's hair and massaging his head, Jack starts to feel that little ball of anxiety twist in his stomach all over again. Of course he wants answers, but he's a little scared of what they might be.

He takes a deep breath and squeezes Davey's hand a little, realizing now that the taller boy has also managed to doze off, due to his lack of sleep last night. His breath is coming out in little puffs against Jack's neck and he's starting to snore very quietly, which Jack typically thinks is pretty funny, but he can't even bring himself to laugh right now.

Silently, within his own head, Jack begins to repeat the mantra that he seems to be using a lot lately:

_Everything is gonna be just fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're about to finally find out what's going on!!!! well, you readers are. i've known for a long time >:)
> 
> any predictions on what's happening to spot? or if you'd rather not think about that yet-- any feelings about all this sprace fluff? i certainly enjoyed writing it, so i hope you guys liked reading it!!
> 
> see you in the next chapter, hopefully sometime soon! i'm pretty much finished with school but this is the busiest time of year for dance, so we'll see how quickly i can work on this! <3


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